BERKELEY 

LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 


'Visions!"    She   said    softly,    "Do   you    behold   them    too?' 


THE  AIR  TRUST 


By 

George  Allan  England 

Author  of 

'Darkness  and  Dawn,"      "Beyond  the  Great  Oblivion, 
"The  Afterglow,"     etc.,  etc. 


Illustrations  by 
John  Sloan 


Published  by 

Phil  Wagner 

St.  Louis,  Mo. 


Copyright  1915 
by  PHIL  WAGNER 

13 


TO 
EUGENE    V.    DEBS 

"Comrade  'Gene," 

Lover  of  All  Mankind  and 

Apostle  of  the  World's  Emancipation, 

I  dedicate 
THIS  BOOK 


097 


FOREWORD 

p 

HIS  book  is  the  result  of  an  attempt  to  carry  the 
monopolistic  principle  to  its  logical  conclusion. 
For  many  years  I  have  entertained  the  idea  that 
if  a  monopoly  be  right  in  oil,  coal,  beef,  steel  or  what  not 
it  would  also  be  right  in  larger  ways  involving,  for  ex 
ample,  the  use  of  the  ocean  and  the  air  itself.  I  believe 
that,  had  capitalists  been  able  to  bring  the  seas  and  the 
atmosphere  under  physical  control,  they  would  long  ago 
have  monopolized  them.  Capitalism  has  not  refrained 
from  laying  its  hand  on  these  things  through  any  sense 
of  decency,  but  merely  because  the  task  has  hitherto 
proved  impossible. 

Granting,  then,  the  premise  that  some  process  might  be 
discovered  whereby  the  air-supply  of  the  world  could  be 
controlled,  the  Air  Trust  logically  follows,  I  have  en 
deavored  to  show  how  such  a  Trust  would  inevitably  lead 
to  the  utter  enslavement  of  the  human  race,  unless  over 
thrown  by  the  only  means  then  possible,  i,  e,,  violence. 
This  book  is  not  a  brief  for  "direct  action."  Doubtless 
the  capitalist  press  (if  it  indeed  notice  the  work  at  all) 
will  denounce  it  as  a  plea  for  "bomb- thro  wing''  and  apply 
the  epithet  of  "Anarchist"  to  me :  but  at  this  the  judicious 
and  the  intelligent  will  only  smile :  and  as  for  our  friends 
the  enemy,  we  esteem  their  opinion  at  its  precise  real 
value,  zero. 

Given  the  conditions  supposed  in  this  book,  I  repeat — 
a  complete  monopoly  of  the  air,  with  an  absolute  sup- 


FOREWORD 

pression  of  all  political  rights — no  other  outcomes  are 
possible  than  slavery  or  violent,  physical  revolution.  As 
I  have  made  Gabriel  Armstrong  say :  "The  masters  would 
have  it  so.  Academic  discussion  becomes  absurd,  in  the 
face  of  plutocratic  savagery.  And  in  a  case  of  self-de 
fense,  no  measures  are  unjustifiable." 

I  believe  in  political  action.  I  hope  for  a  peaceful  and 
bloodless  revolution.  But  if  that  be  impossible,  then  by 
all  means  let  us  have  revolution  in  its  other  sense.  And 
with  the  hope  that  this  book  may  perhaps  revive  some 
fainting  spirit  or  renew  the  vision  of  emancipation  in 
some  soul  where  it  has  dimmed ,  I  give  'The  Air  Trust" 
to  the  workers  of  America  and  of  the  world. 

GEORGE  ALLAN  ENGLAND. 
Boston,  Mass.,  November  i,  1915. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

I THE  BIRTH  OF  AN  IDEA 15 

II THE  PARTNERS 22 

III THE  BAITING  OF  HERZOG 29 

IV AN  INTERLOPER 39 

V IN  THE  LABORATORY 52 

VI OXYGEN,  KING  OF  INTOXICATORS 59 

VII A  FREAK  OF  FATE 65 

VIII ONE  UNBIDDEN,  SHARES  GREAT  SECRETS....  72 

IX DISCHARGED  83 

'X A  GLIMPSE  OF  THE  PARASITES 91 

XI THE  END  OF  Two  GAMES 99 

XII ON  THE  GREAT  HIGHWAY 107 

XIII... .CATASTROPHE  116 

XIV THE  RESCUE 121 

XV AN  HOUR  AND  A  PARTING 129 

XVI TIGER  WALDRON  "COMES  BACK" 148 

XVII THOUGHTS  155 

XVIII FLINT  AND  WALDRON  PLAN 160 

XIX CATHERINE'S  DEFIANCE 169 

XX THE  BILLIONAIRE'S  PLOT 175 

XXI GABRIEL,  GOOD  SAMARITAN 180 

XXII THE  TRAP  is  SPRUNG 188 

XXIII THE  BEAST  GLOATS....  ...196 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

XXIV CATHERINE'S  SUPREME  DECISION 205 

XXV THROUGH  STEEL  BARS 214 

XXVI /-GUILTY"  225 

XXVII BACK  IN  THE  SUNLIGHT 235 

XXVIII IN  THE  REFUGE 246 

XXIX "APRES  Nous  LE  DELUGE!" 257 

XXX TRAPPED!   264 

XXXI ESCAPE!    270 

XXXII OMINOUS  DEVELOPMENTS  277 

XXXIII "Xow  COMES  THE  HOUR  SUPREME" 285 

XXXIV THE  ATTACK  294 

XXXV TERROR  AND  RETREAT 302 

XXXVI THE  STORMING  OF  THE  WORKS 312 

XXXVII DEATH  IN  THE  PIT  OF  STEEL 319 

XXXVIII .VISIONS ...329 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

"VISIONS!"  SHE  SAID  SOFTLY, 

"Do  You  BEHOLD  THEM  Too?" Frontispiece 

"CAN'T  BE   DONE,  EH  ?"  SAID  FLINT 24 

HE   GATHERED   HER  UP   AS 

THOUGH  SHE  HAD  BEEN  A  CHILD 120 

AIMING  AT  THE  BASE  OF  THE  SKULL  SHE  STRUCK 193 

THE  SPY'S  BODY  BURST  INTO  A  SHEAF  OF  FIRE 272 

His  FINGERS  LOST  THEIR  HOLD — 

HE   DROPPED   LIKE  A  PLUMMET....  ^321 


THE  AIR  TRUST 


CHAPTER  I. 
THE  BIRTH  OF  AN  IDEA. 

UNK  far  back  in  the  huge  leather  cushions  of  his 
morris  chair,  old  Isaac  Flint  was  thinking,  think 
ing  hard.  Between  narrowed  lids,  his  hard,  gray  eyes 
were  blinking  at  the  morning  sunlight  that  poured  into 
his  private  office,  high  up  in  the  great  building  he  had 
reared  on  Wall  Street.  From  his  thin  lips  now  and  then 
issued  a  coil  of  smoke  from  the  costly  cigar  he  was  con 
suming.  His  bony  legs  were  crossed,  and  one  foot 
twitched  impatiently.  Now  and  again  he  tugged  at  his 
white  mustache.  A  frown  creased  his  hard  brow ;  and,  as 
he  pondered,  something  of  the  glitter  of  a  snake  seemed 
reflected  in  his  pupils. 

"Not  enough,"  he  muttered,  harshly.  "It's  not  enough 
— there  must  be  more,  more,  more!  Some  way  must  be 
found.  Must  be,  and  shall  be!" 

The  sunlight  of  early  spring,  glad  and  warm  over 
Manhattan,  brought  no  message  of  cheer  to  the  Billion 
aire.  It  bore  no  news  of  peace  and  joy  to  him.  Its  very 
brightness,  as  it  flooded  the  metropolis  and  mellowed  his 
luxurious  inner  office,  seemed  to  offend  the  master  of 
the  world.  And  presently  he  arose,  walked  to  the  win- 


16  THE    AIR    TRUST 

dow  and  made  as  though  to  lower  the  shade.  But  for  a 
moment  he  delayed  this  action.  Standing  there  at  the  win 
dow,  he  peered  out.  Far  below  him,  the  restless,  swarm 
ing  life  of  the  huge  city  crept  and  grovelled.  Insects  that 
were  men  and  women  crowded  the  clefts  that  were 
streets.  Long  lines  of  cars,  toy-like,  crept  along  the  "L" 
structures.  As  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  tufted  plumes  of 
smoke  and  steam  wafted  away  on  the  April  breeze.  The 
East  River  glistened  in  the  sunlight,  its  bosom  vexed  by 
myriad  craft,  by  ocean  liners,  by  tugs  and  barges,  by 
grim  warships,  by  sailing-vessels,  whose  canvas  gleamed, 
by  snow-white  fruitboats  from  the  tropics,  by  hulls  from 
every  port.  Over  the  bridges,  long  slow  lines  of  traf 
fic  crawled.  And,  far  beyond  to  the  dim  horizon, 
stretched  out  the  hives  of  men,  till  the  blue  depths  of 
distance  swallowed  all  in  haze. 

And  as  Flint  gazed  on  this  marvel,  all  created  and 
.maintained  by  human  toil,  by  sweat  and  skill  and  tire 
less  patience  of  the  workers,  a  hard  smile  curved  his  lips. 

"All  mine,  more  or  less/'  said  he  to  himself,  puff 
ing  deep  on  his  cigar.  "All  yielding  tribute  to  me,  even 
as  the  mines  and  mills  and  factories  I  cannot  see  yield 
tribute!  Even  as  the  oil-wells,  the  pipe-lines,  the  rail 
roads  and  the  subways  yield — even  as  the  whole  world 
yields  it.  All  this  labor,  all  this  busy  strife,  I  have  a 
hand  in.  The  millions  eat  and  drink  and  buy  and  sell; 
and  I  take  toll  of  it— yet  it  is  not  enough.  I  hold  them 
in  my  hand,  yet  the  hand  cannot  close,  completely.  And 
until  it  does,  it  is  not  enough!  No,  not  enough  for  me!" 

He  pondered  a  moment,  standing  there  musing  at 
the  window,  surveying  "all  the  wonders  of  the  earth" 
that  in  its  fulness,  in  that  year  of  grace,  1921,  bore 


THE    BIRTH    OF    AN    IDEA  17 

tribute  to  him  who  toiled  not,  neither  spun;  and  though 
he  smiled,  the  smile  was  bitter. 

"Not  enough,  yet,"  he  reflected.  "And  how — how 
shall  I  close  my  grip?  How  shall  I  master  all  this, 
absolutely  and  completely,  till  it  be  mine  in  truth? 
Through  light?  The  rnob  can  do  with  less,  if  I  squeeze 
too  hard !  Through  food  ?  They  can  economize !  Trans 
portation?  No,  the  traffic  will  bear  only  a  certain  load! 
How,  then  ?  What  is  it  they  all  must  have,  or  die,  that 
I  can  control?  What  universal  need,  vital  to  rich  and  poor 
alike?  To  great  and  small?  What  absolute  necessity 
which  shall  make  my  rivals  in  the  Game  as  much  my 
vassals  as  the  meanest  slave  in  my  steel  mills?  What 
can  it  be?  For  power  I  must  have!  Like  Caesar,  who 
preferred  to  be  first  in  the  smallest  village,  rather  than  be 
second  at  Rome,  I  can  and  will  have  no  competitor.  I 
must  rule  all,  or  the  game  is  worthless!  But  how?" 

Almost  as  in  answer  to  his  mental  question,  a  sudden 
gust  of  air  swayed  the  curtain  and  brushed  it  against  his 
face.  And,  on  the  moment,  inspiration  struck  him. 

"What?"  he  exclaimed  suddenly,  his  brows  wrinkling, 
a  strange  and  eager  light  burning  in  his  hard  eyes.  "Eh, 
what?  Can  it — could  it  be  possible?  My  God!  If  so — 
if  it  might  be — the  world  would  be  my  toy,  to  play  with 
as  I  like! 

"If  that  could  happen,  kings  and  emperors  would  have 
to  cringe  and  crawl  to  me,  like  my  hordes  of  serfs  all  over 
this  broad  land.  Statesmen  and  diplomats,  president  and 
judges,  lawmakers  and  captains  of  industry,  all  would 
fall  into  bondage;  and  for  the  first  time  in  history  one 
man  would  rule  the  earth,  completely  and  absolutely — 
and  that  man  would  be  Isaac  Flint!" 


18  THE    AIR    TRUST 

Staggered  by  the  very  immensity  of  the  bold  thought, 
so  vast  that  for  a  moment  he  could  not  realize  it  in  its  en 
tirety,  the  Billionaire  fell  to  pacing  the  floor  of  his  office. 

His  cigar  now  hung  dead  and  unnoticed  between  his 
thinly  cruel  lips.  His  hands  were  gripped  behind  his  bent 
back,  as  he  paced  the  priceless  Shiraz  rug,  itself  having 
cost  the  wage  of  a  hundred  workmen  for  a  year's  hard, 
grinding  toil.  And  as  he  trod,  up  and  down,  up  and 
down  the  rich  apartments,  a  slow,  grim  smile  curved  his 
mouth. 

"What  editor  could  withstand  me,  then  ?"  he  was  think 
ing.  "What  clergyman  could  raise  his  voice  against  my 
rule?  Ah!  Their  'high  principles'  they  prate  of  so  elo 
quently,  their  crack-brained  economics,  their  rebellions 
and  their  strikes — the  dogs! — would  soon  bow  down 
before  that  power !  Men  have  starved  for  stiff-necked 
opposition's  sake,  and  still  may  do  so — but  with  my  hand 
at  the  throat  of  the  world,  with  the  world's  very  life- 
breath  in  my  grip,  what  then?  Submission,  or — ha! 
well,  we  shall  see,  we  shall  see !" 

A  subtle  change  came  over  his  face,  which  had  been 
growing  paler  for  some  minutes.  Impatiently  he  flung 
away  his  cigar,  and,  turning  to  his  desk,  opened  a  drawer, 
took  out  a  little  vial  and  uncorked  it.  He  shook  out  two 
small  white  tablets,  on  the  big  sheet  of  plate-glass  that 
covered  the  desk,  swallowed  them  eagerly,  and  replaced 
the  vial  in  the  desk  again.  For  be  it  known  that,  master 
of  the  world  though  Flint  was,  he  too  had  a  master- 
morphine.  Long  years  he  had  bowed  beneath  its  whip, 
the  veriest  slave  of  the  insidious  drug.  No  three  hours 
could  pass,  without  that  dosage.  His  immense  native 
will  power  still  managed  to  control  the  dose  and  not  in- 


THE    BIRTH    OF    AN    IDEA  19 

crease  it;  but  years  ago  he  had  abandoned  hope  of  ever 
diminishing  or  ceasing  it.  And  now  he  thought  no  more 
of  it  than  of — well,  of  breathing. 

Breathing!  As  he  stood  up  again  and  drew  a  deep 
breath,  under  the  reviving  influence  of  the  drug,  his  in 
spiration  once  more  recurred  to  him. 

"Breath !"  said  he.  "Breath  is  life.  Without  food  and 
drink  and  shelter,  men  can  live  a  while.  Even  without 
water,  for  some  days*.  But  without  air — they  die  inevi 
tably  and  at  once.  And  if  I  make  the  air  my  own,  then  I 
am  master  of  all  life !" 

And  suddenly  he  burst  into  a  harsh,  jangling  laugh. 

"Air!"  he  cried  exultantly,  "An  Air  Trust!  By  God 
in  Heaven,  it  can  be!  It  shall  be — it  must!" 

His  mind,  somewhat  sluggish  before  he  had  taken  the 
morphine,  now  was  working  clearly  and  accurately  again, 
with  that  fateful  and  undeviating  precision  which  had 
made  him  master  of  billions  of  dollars  and  uncounted  mil 
lions  of  human  lives;  which  had  woven  his  network  of 
possession  all  over  the  United  States,  Europe  and  Asia 
and  even  Africa ;  which  had  drawn,  as  into  a  spider's  web, 
the  world's  railroads  and  steamship  lines,  its  coal  and 
copper  and  steel,  its  oil  and  grain  and  beef,  its  every  need 
— save  air! 

And  now,  keen  on  the  track  of  this  last  great  inspira 
tion,  the  Billionaire  strode  to  his  revolving  book-case, 
whirled  it  round  and  from  its  shelves  jerked  a  thick  vol 
ume,  a  smaller  book  and  some  pamphlets. 

"Let's  have  some  facts !"  said  he,  flinging  them  upon  his 
desk,  and  seating  himself  before  it  in  a  costly  chair  of 
teak.  "Once  I  get  an  outline  of  the  facts  and  what  I 


20  THE    AIR    TRUST 

want  to  do,  then  my  subordinates  can  carry  out  my  plans. 
Before  all,  I  must  have  facts !" 

For  half  an  hour  he  thumbed  his  references,  noting  all 
the  salient  points  mentally,  without  taking  a  single  note; 
for,  so  long  as  the  drug  still  acted,  his  brain  was  an  in 
strument  of  unsurpassed  keenness  and  accuracy. 

A  sinister  figure  he  made,  as  he  sat  there  poring  in 
tently  over  the  technical  books  before  him,  contrasting 
strangely  with  the  beauty  and  the  luxury  of  the  office. 
On  the  mantel,  over  the  fireplace  of  Carrara  marble, 
ticked  a  Louis  XIV  clock,  the  price  of  which  might  have 
saved  the  lives  of  a  thousand  workingmen's  children 
during  the  last  summer's  torment.  Gold-woven  tapes 
tries  from  Rouen  covered  the  walls,  whereon  hung  etch 
ings  and  rare  prints.  Old  Flint's  office,  indeed,  had 
more  the  air  of  an  art  gallery  than  a  place  where  grim 
plots  and  deals  innumerable  had  been  put  through,  law 
makers  corrupted  past  counting,  and  the  destinies  of  na 
tions  bent  beneath  his  corded,  lean  and  nervous  hand. 
And  now,  as  the  Billionaire  sat  there  thinking,  smiling  a 
smile  that  boded  no  good  to  the  world,  the  soft  spring 
air  that  had  inspired  his  great  plan  still  swayed  the  silken 
curtains. 

Of  a  sudden,  he  slammed  the  big  book  shut,  that  he 
was  studying,  and  rose  to  his  feet  with  a  hard  laugh — 
the  laugh  that  had  presaged  more  than  one  calamity  to 
mankind.  Beneath  the  sweep  of  his  mustache  one  caught 
the  glint  of  a  gold  tooth,  sharp  and  unpleasant. 

A  moment  he  stood  there,  keen,  eager,  dominant,  his 
hands  gripping  the  edge  of  the  desk  till  the  big  knuckles 
whitened.  He  seemed  the  embodiment  of  harsh  and  un 
relenting  Power — power  over  men  and  things,  over  their 


THE    BIRTH    OF    AN    IDEA  21 

laws  and  institutions;  power  which,  like  Alexander's, 
sought  only  new  worlds  to  conquer;  power  which  found 
all  metes  and  bounds  too  narrow. 

"Power!"  he  whispered,  as  though  to  voice  the  inner 
meaning  of  the  picture.  "Life,  air,  breath — the  very 
breath  of  the  world  in  my  hands — power  absolutely,  at 
last!" 


CHAPTER  II. 
THE  PARTNERS. 

HEN,  as  was  his  habit,  translating  ideas  into  im- 
mediate  action,  he  strode  to  a  door  at  the  far  end 
of  the  office,  flung  it  open  and  said : 
"See  here  a  minute,  Wally !" 

"Busy !"  came  an  answering  voice,  from  behind  a  huge 
roll-top  desk. 

"Of  course!     But  drop  it,  drop  it.     I've  got  news  for 
you." 

"Urgent?"  asked  the  voice,  coldly. 
"Very.  Come  in  here,  a  minute.  I've  got  to  unload!" 
From  behind  the  big  desk  rose  the  figure  of  a  man 
about  five  and  forty,  sandy-haired,  long-faced  and  sallow, 
with  a  pair  of  the  coldest,  fishiest  eyes — eyes  set  too  close 
together — that  ever  looked  out  of  a  flat  and  ugly  face. 
A  man  precisely  dressed,  something  of  a  fop,  with  just  a 
note  of  the  "sport"  in  his  get-up;  a  man  to  fear,  a  man 
cool,  wary  and  dangerous — Maxim  Waldron,  in  fact,  the 
Billionaire's  right-hand  man  and  confidant.  Waldron,  for 
some  time  affianced  to  his  eldest  daughter.  Waldron 
the  arch-corruptionist ;  Waldron,  who  never  yet  had  been 
"caught  with  the  goods,"  but  who  had  financed  scores  of 
industrial  and  political  campaigns,  with  Flint's  money 
and  his  own;  Waldron,  the  smooth,  the  suave,  the  per 
ilous. 


THE     PARTNERS  23 

"What  now?"  asked  he,  fixing  his  pale  blue  eyes  on 
the  Billionaire's  face. 

"Come  in  here,  and  I'll  tell  you." 

"Right!"  And  Waldron,  brushing  an  invisible  speck 
of  dust  from  the  sleeve  of  his  checked  coat,  strolled 
rather  casually  into  the  Billionaire's  office. 

Flint  closed  the  door. 

"Well?"  asked  Waldron,  with  something  of  a  drawl. 
"What's  the  excitement?" 

"See  here,"  began  the  great  financier,  stimulated  by  the 
drug.  "We've  been  wasting  our  time,  all  these  years,  with 
our  petty  monopolies  of  beef  and  coal  and  transportation 
and  all  such  trifles !" 

"So?"  And  Waldron  drew  from  his  pocket  a  gold 
cigar-case,  monogrammed  with  diamonds.  "Trifles,  eh?" 
He  carefully  chose  a  perfecto.  "Perhaps;  but  we've  man 
aged  to  rub  along,  eh?  Well,  if  these  are  trifles,  what's 
on?" 

"Air!" 

"Air?"  Waldron's  match  poised  a  moment,  as  with  a 
slight  widening  of  the  pale  blue  eyes  he  surveyed  his 
partner.  "Why — er — what  do  you  mean,  Flint  ?" 

"The  Air  Trust!" 

"Eh?"    And  Waldron  lighted  his  cigar. 

"A  monopoly  of  breathing  privileges !" 

"Ha!  Ha!"  Waldron's  laugh  was  as  mirthful  as  a 
grave-yard  raven's  croak.  "Nothing  to  it,  old  man.  For 
get  it,  and  stick  to " 

"Of  course!  I  might  have  expected  as  much  from 
you !"  retorted  the  Billionaire  tartly.  "You've  got  neither 
imagination  nor " 

"Nor  any  fancy  for  wild-goose  chases,"  said  Waldron, 


24  THE    AIR    TRUST 

easily,  as  he  sat  down  in  the  big  leather  chair.  "Air? 
Hot  air,  Flint!  No,  no,  it  won't  do!  Nothing  to  it, 
nothing  at  all." 

For  a  moment  the  Billionaire  regarded  him  with  a  look 
of  intense  irritation.  His  thin  lips  moved,  as  though  to 
emit  some  caustic  answer ;  but  he  managed  to  keep  silence. 
The  two  men  looked  at  each  other,  a  long  minute;  then 
Flint  began  again : 

"Listen,  now,  and  keep  still !  The  idea  came  to  me  not 
an  hour  ago,  this  morning,  looking  over  the  city,  here. 
We've  got  a  finger  on  everything  but  the  atmosphere,  the 
most  important  thing  of  all.  If  we  could  control 
that " 

"Of  course,  I  understand,"  interrupted  the  other,  blow 
ing  a  ring  of  smoke.  "Unlimited  power  and  so  on.  Looks 
very  nice,  and  all.  Only,  it  can't  be  done.  Air's  too  big, 
too  fluid,  too  universal.  Human  powers  can't  control  it, 
any  more  than  the  ocean.  Talk  about  monopolizing  the 
Atlantic,  if  you  will,  Flint.  But  for  heaven's  sake, 
drop " 

"Can't  be  done,  eh?"  exclaimed  Flint,  warmly,  sitting 
down  on  the  desk-top  and  levelling  a  big- jointed  forefinger 
at  his  partner.  "That's  what  every  new  idea  has  had  to 
meet.  It's  no  argument!  People  scoffed  at  the  idea  of 
gas  lighting  when  it  was  new.  Called  it  'burning  smoke/ 
and  made  merry  over  it.  That  was  as  recently  as  1832. 
But  ten  years  later,  gas-illumination  was  in  full  sway. 

"Electric  lighting  met  the  same  objection.  And  re 
member  the  objection  to  the  telephone?  When  Congress, 
in  1843,  granted  Morse  an  appropriation  of  $30,000  to 
run  the  first  telegraph  line  from  Baltimore  to  Washington, 
one  would-be  humorist  in  that  supremely  intelligent  body 


•Can't   be   done,    Eh?"   said    Flint. 


THE     PARTNERS  25 

tried  to  introduce  an  amendment  that  part  of  the  sum 
should  be  spent  in  surveying  a  railroad  to  the  moon! 
And " 

"Granted/*  put  in  Waldron,  "that  my  objection  is  fu 
tile,  just  what's  your  idea?" 

"This !"  And  Flint  stabbed  at  him  with  his  forefinger, 
while  the  other  financier  regarded  him  with  a  fishily 
amused  eye.  "Every  human  being  in  this  world — and 
there  are  1,900,000,000  of  them  now! — is  breathing,  on 
the  average,  16  cubic  feet  of  air  every  hour,  or  about  400 
a  day.  The  total  amount  of  oxygen  actually  absorbed  in 
the  24  hours  by  each  person,  is  about  17  cubic  feet,  or 
over  30  billions  of  cubic  feet  of  oxygen,  each  day,  in  the 
entire  world.  Get  that?" 

"Well?"  drawled  the  other. 

"Don't  you  see?"  snapped  Flint,  irritably.  "Imagine 
that  we  extract  oxygen  from  the  air.  Then " 

"You  might  as  well  try  to  dip  up  the  ocean  with  a 
spoon,"  said  Waldron,  "as  try  to  vitiate  the  atmosphere 
of  the  whole  world,  by  any  means  whatsoever !  But  even 
if  you  could,  what  then?" 

"Look  here !"  exclaimed  the  Billionaire.  "It  only  needs 
a  reduction  of  10  per  cent,  in  the  atmospheric  oxygen  to 
make  the  air  so  bad  that  nobody  can  breathe  it  without 
discomfort  and  pain.  Take  out  any  more  and  people  will 
die!  We  don't  have  to  monopolize  all  the  oxygen,  but 
only  a  very  small  fraction,  and  the  world  will  come  gasp 
ing  to  us,  like  so  many  fish  out  of  water,  falling  over  each 
other  to  buy!" 

"Possibly.    But  the  details  ?" 

"I  haven't  worked  them  out  yet,  naturally.  I  needn't. 
Herzog  will  take  care  of  those.  He  and  his  staff.  That's 


26  THE    AIR     TRUST 

what  they're  for.  Shall  we  put  it  up  to  him?  What? 
My  God,  man !  Think  of  the  millions  in  it — the  billions ! 
The  power!  The " 

"Of  course,  of  course!"  interposed  Waldron,  calmly, 
eyeing  his  smoke.  "Don't  get  excited,  Flint.  Rome 
wasn't  built  in  a  day.  There  may  be  something  in  this; 
possibly  there  may  be  the  germ  of  an  idea.  I  don't  say  it's 
impossible.  It  looks  visionary  to  me;  but  then,  as  you 
well  say,  so  has  every  new  idea  alwrays  looked.  Let  me 
think,  now;  let  me  think." 

"Go  ahead  and  think !"  growled  the  Billionaire.  "Think 
and  be  hanged  to  you !  I'm  going  to  act !" 

Waldron  vouchsafed  no  reply,  but  merely  eyed  his  part 
ner  with  cold  interest,  as  though  he  were  some  biological 
specimen  under  a  lens,  and  smoked  the  while. 

Flint,  however,  turned  to  his  telephone  and  pulled  it 
toward  him,  over  the  big  sheet  of  plate  glass.  Impatiently 
he  took  off  the  receiver  and  held  it  up  to  his  ear. 

"Hello,  hello !  2438  John !"  he  exclaimed,  in  answer  to 
the  query  of  "Number,  please?" 

Silence,  a  moment,  while  Waldron  slowly  drew  at  his 
cigar  and  while  the  Billionaire  tugged  with  impatience  at 
his  gray  mustache. 

"Hello!    That  you,  Herzcg?" 

"All  right.  I  want  to  see  you  at  once.  Immediately, 
understand  ?" 

"Very  well.    And  say,  Herzog!" 

"Bring1  whatever  literature  you  have  on  liquid  air,  nitro- 


THE     PARTNERS       ,  27 

gen  extraction  from  the  atmosphere,  and  so  on.     Under 
stand  ?    And  come  at  once !" 

"That's  all!    Good-bye!" 

Smiling  dourly,  with  satisfaction,  he  hung  up  and 
shoved  the  telephone  away  again,  then  turned  to  his  still 
reflecting  partner,  who  had  now  hoisted  his  patent  leather 
boots  to  the  window  sill  and  seemed  absorbed  in  regarding 
their  gloss  through  a  blue  veil  of  nicotine. 

"Herzog,"  announced  the  Billionaire,  "will  be  here  in 
ten  minutes,  and  we'll  get  down  to  business/* 

"So?"  languidly  commented  the  immaculate  Waldron. 
"Well,  much  as  I'd  like  to  flatter  your  astuteness,  Flint, 
I'm  bound  to  say  you're  barking  up  a  false  trail,  this  time ! 
Beef,  yes.  Steel,  yes.  Railroads,  steamships,  coal,  iron, 
wheat,  yes.  All  tangible,  all  concrete,  all  susceptible  of 
being  weighed,  measured,  put  in  figures,  fenced  and 
bounded,  legislated  about  and  so  on  and  so  forth.  But 
air 1" 

He  snapped  his  manicured  fingers,  to  show  his  well-con 
sidered  contempt  for  the  Billionaire's  scheme,  and,  throw 
ing  away  his  smoked-out  cigar,  chose  a  fresh  one. 

Flint  made  no  reply,  but  with  an  angry  grunt  flung  a 
look  of  scorn  at  the  calm  and  placid  one.  Then,  furtively 
opening  his  desk  drawer,  he  once  more  sought  the  little 
vial  and  took  two  more  pellets — an  action  which  Waldron, 
without  moving  his  head,  complacently  observed  in  a 
heavily-bevelled  mirror  that  hung  between  the  windows. 

"Air,"  murmured  Waldron,  suavely.  "Hot  air, 
Flint?" 

No  answer,  save  another  grunt  and  the  slamming  of  the 
desk-drawer. 


28  THE    AIR    TRUST 

And  thus,  in  silence,  the  two  men,  masters  of  the  world, 
awaited  the  coming  of  the  practical  scientist,  the  prole 
tarian,  on  whom  they  both,  at  last  analysis,  had  to  rely  for 
most  of  their  results. 


CHAPTER  III. 
THE  BAITING  OF  HERZOG. 

nERZOG  was  not  long  in  arriving.  To  be  summoned 
in  haste  by  Isaac  Flint,  and  to  delay,  was  unthink 
able.  For  eighteen  years  the  chemist  had  lickspittled  to 
the  Billionaire.  Keen  though  his  mind  was,  his  character 
and  stamina  were  those  of  a  jellyfish;  and  when  the  Mas 
ter  took  snuff,  as  the  saying  is,  Herzog  never  failed  to 
sneeze. 

He  therefore  appeared,  now,  in  some  ten  minutes — a 
fat,  rubicund,  spectacled  man,  with  a  cast  in  his  left  eye 
and  two  fingers  missing,  to  remind  him  of  early  days  in 
experimental  work  on  explosives.  Under  his  arm  he  car 
ried  several  tomes  and  pamphlets ;  and  so,  bowing  first  to 
one  financier,  then  to  the  other,  he  stood  there  on  the 
threshold,  awaiting  his  masters'  pleasure. 

"Come  in,  Herzog,"  directed  Flint.  "Got  some  ma 
terial  there  on  liquid  air,  and  nitrogen,  and  so  on?" 

"Yes,  sir.    Just  what  is  it  you  want,  sir  ?" 

"Sit  down,  and  I'll  tell  you," — for  the  chemist,  hat  in 
hand,  ventured  not  to  seat-  himself  unbidden  in  presence 
of  these  plutocrats. 

Herzog,  murmuring  thanks  for  Flint's  gracious  permis 
sion,  deposited  his  derby  on  top  of  the  revolving  book 
case,  sat  down  tentatively  on  the  edge  of  a  chair  and 
clutched  his  books  as  though  they  had  been  so  many  shields 
against  the  redoubted  power  of  his  masters. 


30  THE    AIR    TRUST 

"See  here,  Herzog,"  Flint  fired  at  him,  without  any 
preliminaries  or  beating  around  the  bush,  "what  do  you 
know  about  the  practical  side  of  extracting  nitrogen  from 
atmospheric  air?  Or  extracting  oxygen,  in  liquid  form? 
Can  it  be  done — that  is,  on  a  commercial  basis  ?" 

"Why,  no,  sir — yes,  that  is — perhaps.    I  mean— 

"What  the  devil  do  you  mean?"  snapped  Flint,  while 
Waldron  smiled  maliciously  as  he  smoked.  "Yes,  or  no? 
I  don't  pay  you  to  muddle  things.  I  pay  you  to  know, 
and  to  tell  me!  Get  that?  Now,  how  about  it?" 

"Well,  sir — hm! — the  fact  is,"  and  the  unfortunate 
chemist  blinked  through  his  glasses  with  extreme  uneasi 
ness,  "the  fact  of  the  matter  is  that  the  processes  involved 
haven't  been  really  perfected,  as  yet.  Beginnings  have 
been  made,  but  no  large-scale  work  has  been  done,  so  far. 
Still,  the  principle — " 

"Is  sound?" 

"Yes,  sir.    I  imagine — " 

"Cut  that !  You  aren't  paid  for  imagining !"  interrupted 
the  Billionaire,  stabbing  at  him  with  that  characteristic 
gesture.  "Just  what  do  you  know  about  it?  No  techni 
calities,  mind !  Essentials,  that's  all,  and  in  a  few  words !" 

"Well,  sir,"  answered  Herzog,  plucking  up  a  little  cour 
age  under  this  pointed  goading,  "so  far  as  the  fixation  of 
atmospheric  nitrogen  goes,  more  progress  has  been  made 
in  England  and  Scandinavia,  than  here.  They're  working 
on  it,  over  there,  to  obtain  cheap  and  plentiful  fertilizer 
from  the  air.  Nitrogen  can  be  obtained  from  the  air,  even 
now,  and  made  into  fertilizers  even  cheaper  than  the  Chili 
saltpeter.  '  Oxygen  is  liberated  as  a  by-product,  and— 

"Oh,  it  is,  eh  ?  And  could  it  be  saved  ?  In  liquid  form 
for  instance" 


THE    BAITING    OF    HERZOG  31 

"I  think  so,  sir.  The  Siemens  &  Halske  interests,  in 
Germany,  are  doing  it  already,  on  a  limited  scale.  In  Nor 
way  and  Austria,  nitrogen  has  been  manufactured  from 
air,  for  some  years." 

"On  a  paying,  commercial  basis?"  demanded  Flint 
while  Waldron,  now  a  trifle  less  scornful,  seemed  to  listen 
with  more  interest  as  his  eyes  rested  on  the  rotund  form 
of  the  scientist. 

"Yes,  sir,  quite  so,"  answered  Herzog.  "It's  commer 
cially  feasible,  though  not  a  very  profitable  business  at 
best.  The  gas  is  utilized  in  chemical  combination  with  a 
substantial  base,  and — " 

"No  matter  about  that,  just  yet,"  interrupted  Flint.  "We 
can  have  details  later.  Do  you  know  of  any  such  busi 
ness  as  yet,  in  the  United  States?" 

"Well,  sir,  there's  a  plant  building  at  Great  Falls, 
South  Carolina,  for  the  purpose.  It  is  to  run  by  water- 
power  and  will  develop  5000  H.  P." 

"Hear  that,  Waldron  ?"  demanded  the  Billionaire.  "It's 
already  beginning  even  here!  But  not  one  of  these 
plants  is  working  for  what  I  see  as  the  prime  possibility. 
No  imagination,  no  grasp  on  the  subject!  No  wonder 
most  inventors  and  scientists  die  poor!  They  incubate 
ideas  and  then  lack  the  warmth  to  hatch  them  into  gen 
eral  application.  It  takes  men  like  us,  Wally — practical 
men — to  turn  the  trick !"  He  spoke  a  bit  rapidly,  almost 
feverishly,  under  the  influence  of  the  subtle  drug.  "Now 
if  we  take  hold  of  this  game,  why,  we  can  shake  the 
world  as  it  has  never  yet  been  shaken!  Eh,  Waldron? 
What  do  you  think  now  ?" 

Waldron  only  grunted,  non-committally.     Flint  with 


32  THE    AIR    TRUST 

a  hard  glance  at  his  unresponsive  partner,  once  more 
turned  to  Herzog. 

"See  here,  now,"  directed  he.  "What's  the  best  proc 
ess  now  in  use?" 

"For  what,  sir?"  ventured  the  timid  chemist. 

"For  the  simultaneous  production  of  nitrogen  and 
oxygen,  from  the  atmosphere !" 

"Well,  sir,"  he  answered,  deprecatingly,  as  though  tak 
ing  a  great  liberty  even  in  informing  his  master  on  a 
point  the  master  had  expressly  asked  about,  "there  are 
three  processes.  But  all  operate  only  on  a  small  scale." 

"Who  ever  told  you  I  wanted  to  work  on  a  large  scale?" 
demanded  Flint,  savagely. 

"I — er — inferred — beg  pardon,  sir — I — "  And  Her 
zog  quite  lost  himself  and  floundered  hopelessly,  while  his 
mismated  eyes  wandered  about  the  room  as  though  seek 
ing  the  assurance  he  so  sadly  lacked. 

"Confine  yourself  to  answering  what  I  ask  you,"  di 
rected  Flint,  crisply.  "You're  not  paid  to  infer.  You're 
paid  to  answer  questions  on  chemistry,  and  to  get  results. 
Remember  that!" 

"Yes,  sir,"  meekly  answered  the  chemist,  while  Wal- 
dron  smiled  with  cynical  amusement.  He  enjoyed  noth 
ing  so  delightedly  as  any  grilling  of  an  employee,  whether 
miner,  railroad  man,  clerk,  ship's  captain  or  what-not. 
This  baiting,  by  Flint,  was  a  rare  treat  to  him. 

"Go  on,"  commanded  the  Billionaire,  in  a  badgering 
tone.  "What  are  the  processes?"  He  eyed  Herzog  as 
though  the  man  had  been  an  ox,  a  dog  or  even  some  in 
animate  object,  coldly  and  with  narrow-lidded  condescen 
sion.  To  him,  in  truth,  men  were  no  more  than  Shelley's 
"plow  or  sword  or  spade"  for  his  own  purpose — things 


THE    BAITING    OF    HERZOG  33 

to  serve  him  and  to  be  ruled — or  broken — as  best  served 
his  ends.  "Go  on!  Tell  me  what  you  know;  and  no 
more !" 

"Yes,  sir,"  ventured  Herzog.  "There  are  three  pro 
cesses  to  extract  nitrogen  and  oxygen  from  air.  One  is 
by  means  of  what  the  German  scientists  call  Kalkstick- 
stoff,  that  is  calcium  cyanide.  It  is  done  with  a  reac 
tion  between  calcium  carbide  and  nitrogen,  and  the  reac 
tion-symbols  are " 

"No  matter,"  Flint  waived  him,  promptly.  "I  don't 
care  for  formulas  or  details.  What  I  want  is  results  and 
general  principles.  Any  other  way  to  extract  these  sub 
stances,  in  commercial  quantities,  from  the  air  we 
breathe?" 

"Two  others.  But  one  of  these  operates  at  a  prohibi 
tive  cost.  The  other " 

"Yes,  yes.  What  is  it?"  Flint  slid  off  the  edge  of  the 
table  and  walked  over  to  Herzog ;  stood  there  in  front  of 
him,  and  bored  down  at  him  with  eager  eyes,  the  pupils 
contracted  by  morphine,  but  very  bright.  "What's  the 
best  way?" 

"With  the  electric  arc,  sir,"  answered  the  chemist, 
mopping  his  brow.  This  grilling  method  reminded  him 
of  what  he  had  heard  of  "Third  Degree"  torments. 
/That's  the  best  method,  sir." 

"Now  in  use,  anywhere?" 

"In  Notodden,  Norway.  They  have  firebrick  furnaces, 
you  understand,  sir,  with  an  alternating  current  of  5000 
> volts  between  water-cooled  copper  electrodes.  The  re 
sulting  arc  is  spread  by  powerful  electro-magnets,  so." 
'•And  he  illustrated  with  his  eight  acid-stained  fingers. 


34  THE     AIR     TRUST 

"Spread  out  like  a  disk  or  sphere  of  flame,  of  electric  fire, 
you  see." 

"Yes,  and  what  then  ?"  demanded  Flint,  while  his  part 
ner,  forgetting  now  to  smile,  sat  there  by  the  window 
scrutinizing  him.  One  saw,  now,  the  terribly  keen  and 
prehensile  intellect  at  work  under  the  mask  of  assumed 
foppishness  and  jesting  indifference — the  quality,  for  the 
most  part  masked,  which  had  earned  Waldron  the  nick 
name  of  "Tiger"  in  Wall  Street. 

"What  then  ?"  repeated  Flint,  once  more  levelling  that 
potent  forefinger  at  the  sweating  Herzog. 

"Well,  sir,  that  gives  a  large  reactive  surface,  through 
which  the  air  is  driven  by  powerful  rotary  fans.  At  the 
high  temperature  of  the  electric  arc  in  air,  the  molecules 
of  nitrogen  and  oxygen  dissociate  into  their  atoms.  The 
air  comes  out  of  the  arc,  charged  with  about  one  per  cent, 
of  nitric  oxide,  and  after  that " 

"Jump  the  details,  idiot!  Can't  you  move  faster  than 
a  paralytic  snail  ?  What's  the  final  result  ?" 

"The  result  is,  sir/'  answered  Herzog,  meek  and  cowed 
under  this  harrying,  "that  calcium  nitrate  is  produced,  a 
very  excellent  fertilizer.  It's  a  form  of  nitrogen,  you  see, 
directly  obtained  from  air." 

"At  what  cost?" 

"One  ton  of  fixed  nitrogen  in  that  form  costs  about 
$150  or  $160." 

"Indeed?"  commented  Flint.  "The  same  amount,  com 
bined  in  Chile  saltpeter,  comes  to ?" 

"A  little  over  $300,  sir." 

"Hear  that,  Wally?"  exclaimed  the  Billionaire,  turn 
ing  to  his  now  interested  associate.  "Even  if  this  idea 
never  goes  a  step  farther,  there's  a  gold  mine  in  just  the 


THE   BAITING   OF   HERZOG  35 

production  of  fertilizer  from  air !  But,  after  all,  that  will 
only  be  a  by-product.  It's  the  oxygen  we're  after,  and 
must  have!" 

He  faced  Herzog  again. 

"Is  any  oxygen  liberated,  during  the  process?"  he  de 
manded. 

"At  one  stage,  yes,  sir.  But  in  the  present  process,  it 
is  absorbed,  also." 

Flint's  eyebrows  contracted  nervously.  For  a  moment 
he  stood  thinking,  while  Herzog  eyed  him  with  trepida 
tion,  and  Waldron,  almost  forgetting  to  smoke,  waited 
developments  with  interest.  The  Billionaire,  however, 
wasted  but  scant  time  in  consideration.  It  was  not  money 
now,  he  lusted  for,  but  power.  Money  was,  to  him,  no 
longer  any  great  desideratum.  At  most,  it  could  now 
mean  no  more  to  him  than  a  figure  on  a  check-book  or  a 
page  of  statistics  in  his  private  memoranda.  But  power, 
unlimited,  indisputable  power  over  the  whole  earth  and 
the  fulness  thereof,  power  which  none  might  dispute, 
power  before  which  all  humanity  must  bow — God!  the 
lust  of  it  now  gripped  and  shook  his  soul. 

Paling  a  little,  but  with  eyes  ablaze,  he  faced  the  anx 
ious  scientist. 

"Herzog!    See  here!" 

"Yes,  sir?" 

"I've  got  a  job  for  you,  understand?" 

"Yes,  sir.    What  is  it?" 

"A  big  job,  and  one  on  which  your  entire  future  de 
pends.  Put  it  through,  and  I'll  do  well  by  you.  Fail,  and 
by  the  Eternal,  I'll  break  you!  I  can,  and  will,  mark 
that!  Do  you  get  me?" 

"I — yes,  sir — that  is,  I'll  do  my  best,  and " 


36  j     THE    AIR    TRUST 

"Listen!  You  go  to  work  at  once,  immediately,  under 
stand  ?  Work  out  for  me  some  process,  some  practicable 
method  by  which  the  nitrogen  and  oxygen  can  both  be 
collected  in  large  quantities  from  the  air.  Everything  in 
my  laboratories  at  Oakwood  Heights  is  at  your  disposal. 
Money's  no  object.  Nothing  counts,  now,  but  results! 

"I  want  the  process  all  mapped  out  and  ready  for  me, 
in  its  essential  outlines,  two  weeks  from  today.  If  it 

isn't "  His  gesture  was  a  menace.  "If  it  is — well, 

•you'll  be  suitably  rewarded.  And  no  leaks,  now.  Not 
a  word  of  this  to  any  one,  understand?  If  it  gets  out, 
you  know  what  I  can  do  to  you,  and  will!  Remember 
Roswell ;  remember  Parker  Hayes.  They  let  news  get  to 
the  Dillingham-Saunders  people,  about  the  new  Tezzoni 
radio-electric  system — and  one's  dead,  now,  a  suicide; 
the  other's  in  Sing- Sing  for  eighteen  years.  Remember 
that — and  keep  your  mouth  shut !" 

"Yes,  sir.    I  understand." 

"All  right,  then.  A  fortnight  from  to-day,  report  to 
;me  here.  Arid  mind  you,  have  something  to  report, 
or !" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Very  well!    Now,  go!" 

Thus  dismissed,  Herzog  gathered  together  his  books 
and  papers,  blinked  a  moment  with  those  peculiar  wall 
eyes  of  his,  arose  and,  bowing  first  to  Flint  and  then  to 
(the  keenly-watching  Waldron,  backed  out  of  the  office. 

When  the  door  had  closed  behind  him,  Flint  turned  to 
his  partner  with  a  nervous  laugh. 

"That's  the  way  to  get  results,  eh?"  he  exclaimed.  "No 
dilly-dallying  and  no  soft  soap;  but  just  lay  the  lash  right 
on,  hard — they  jump  then,  the  vermin!  Results!  That 


THE    BAITING   OF    HERZOG  37 

fellow  will  work  his  head  off,  the  next  two  weeks;  and 
there'll  be  something  doing  when  he  comes  again.  You'll 
see!" 

Waldron  laughed  nonchalantly.  Once  more  the  mask 
of  indifference  had  fallen  over  him,  veiling  the  keen,  in 
cisive  interest  he  had  shown  during  the  interview. 

"Something  doing,  yes,"  he  drawled,  puffing  his  cigar 
to  a  glow.  "Only  I  advise  you  to  choose  your  men.  Some 
day  you'll  try  that  on  a  real  man — one  of  the  rough 
necks  you  know,  and — " 

Flint  snapped  his  fingers  contemptuously,  gazed  at 
Waldron  a  moment  with  unwinking  eyes  and  tugged  at 
his  mustache. 

"When  I  need  advice  on  handling  men,  I'll  ask  for  it," 
he  rapped  out.  Then,  glancing  at  the  Louis  XIV  clock : 
"Past  the  time  for  that  C.  P.  S.  board-meeting,  Wally. 
No  more  of  this,  now.  We'll  talk  it  over  at  the  Country 
Club,  tonight;  but  for  the  present,  let's  dismiss  it  from 
our  minds." 

"Right!"  answered  the  other,  and  arose,  yawning,  as 
though  the  whole  subject  were  of  but  indifferent  interest 
to  him,  "It's  all  moonshine,  Flint.  All  a  pipe-dream. 
Defoe's  philosophers,  who  spent  their  lives  trying  to  ex 
tract  sunshine  from  cucumbers,  never  entertained  any 
more  fantastic  notion  than  this  of  yours.  However,  it's 
your  funeral,  not  mine.  You're  paying  for  it.  I  decline 
to  put  in  any  funds  for  any  such  purpose.  Amuse  your 
self;  you've  got  to  settle  the  bill." 

Flint  smiled  sourly,  his  gold  tooth  glinting,  but  made 
no  answer. 

"Come  along,"  said  his  partner,  moving  toward  the 
door.  "They're  waiting  for  us,  already,  at  the  board 


38  THE    AIR    TRUST 

meeting.  And  there's  big  business  coming  up,  to-day— « 
that  strike  situation,  you  remember.  Slack's  going  to  be 
on  deck.  We've  got  to  decide,  at  once,  whether  or  not 
we're  going  to  turn  him  loose  on  the  miners,  to  smash 
that  gang  of  union  thugs  and  Socialist  fanatics,  and  do  it 
right.  That's  a  game  worth  playing,  Flint;  but  this  Air 
Trust  vagary  of  yours — stuff  and  nonsense !" 

'Flint,  for  all  reply,  merely  cast  a  strange  look  at  his 
partner,  with  those  strongly-contracted  pupils  of  his;  and 
so  the  two  vultures  of  prey  betook  themselves  to  the  board 
room  where  already,  round  the  long  rosewood  table,  Wal 
ter  Slade  of  the  Cosmos  Detective  Company  was  laying 
out  his  strike-breaking  plans  to  the  attentive  captains  of 
industry. 


CHAPTER  IV. 
AN  INTERLOPER. 

ON  THE  eleventh  day  after  this  interview  between 
the  two  men  who,  between  them,  practically  held 
the  whole  world  in  their  grasp,  Herzog  telephoned  up 
from  Oakwood  Heights  and  took  the  liberty  of  informing 
Flint  that  his  experiments  had  reached  a  point  of  such 
success  that  he  prayed  Flint  would  condescend  to  visit  the 
laboratories  in  person. 

Flint,  after  some  reflection,  decided  he  would  so  con 
descend;  and  forthwith  ordered  his  limousine  from  his 
private  garage  on  William  Street.  Thereafter  he  called 
Waldron  on  the  'phone,  at  his  Fifth  Avenue  address. 

"Mr.  Waldron  is  not  up,  yet,  sir/'  a  carefully-modulated 
voice  answered  over  the  wire.  "Any  message  I  can  give 
him,  sir?" 

"Oh,  hello!  That  you,  Edwards?"  Flint  demanded, 
recognizing  the  suave  tones  of  his  partner's  valet. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"All  right.  Tell  Waldron  I'll  call  for  him  in  half  an 
hour  with  the  limousine.  And  mind,  now,  I  want  him 
to  be  up  and  dressed!  We're  going  down  to  Staten  Is 
land.  Got  that?" 

"Yes,  sir.     Any  other  message,  sir?" 

"No.    But  be  sure  you  get  him  up,  for  me !    Good-bye !" 

Thirty  minutes  later,  Flint's  chauffeur  opened  the  door 
of  the  big  limousine,  in  front  of  the  huge  Renaissance 


40  THE    AIR    TRUST 

pile  that  Waldron's  millions  had  raised  on  land  which 
had  cost  him  more  than  as  though  he  had  covered  it 
with  double  eagles;  and  Flint  himself  ascended  the  steps 
of  Pentelican  marble.  The  limousine,  its  varnish  and  sil 
ver-plate  flashing  in  the  bright  spring  sun,  stood  by  the 
curb,  purring  softly  to  itself  with  all  six  cylinders,  a  thing 
of  matchless  beauty  and  rare  cost.  The  chauffeur,  on  the 
driver's  seat,  did  not  even  bother  to  shut  off  the  gas,  but 
let  the  engine  run,  regardless.  To  have  stopped  it  would 
have  meant  some  trifling  exertion,  in  starting  again ;  and 
since  Flint  never  considered  such  details  as  a  few  gallons 
of  gasoline,  why  should  he  care?  Lighting-  a  Turkish 
cigarette,  this  aristocrat  of  labor  lolled  on  the  padded 
leather  and  indifferently — with  more  of  contempt  than  of 
interest — regarded  a  swarm  of  iron-workers,  masons  and 
laborers  at  work  on  a  new  building  across  the  avenue. 

Flint,  meanwhile,  had  entered  the  great  mansion,  its 
bronze  doors — ravished  from  the  Palazzo  Guelfo  at 
Venice — having  swung  inward  to  admit  him,  with  noise 
less  majesty.  Ignoring  the  doorman,  he  addressed  him 
self  to  Edwards,  who  stood  in  the  spacious,  mahogany- 
panelled  hall,  washing  both  hands  with  imaginary  soap. 

"Waldron  up,  yet,  Edwards?" 

"No,  sir.    He — er — I  have  been  unable " 

"The  devil!    Where  is  he ?" 

"In  his  apartments,  sir." 

"Take  me  up!" 

"He  said,  sir,"  ventured  Edwards,  in  his  smoothest 
voice.  "He  said " 

"I  don't  give  a  damn  what  he  said !  Take  me  up,  at 
once!" 


AN     INTERLOPER  41 

"Yes,  sir.  Immediately,  sir !"  And  he  gestured  suave 
ly  toward  the  elevator. 

Flint  strode  down  the  hall,  indifferent  to  the  Kirman- 
shah  rugs,  the  rare  mosaic  floor  and  stained-glass  win 
dows,  the  Parian  fountain  and  the  Azeglio  tapestries  that 
hung  suspended  up  along  the  stairway — all  old  stories  to 
him  and  as  commonplace  as  rickety  odds  and  ends  of 
furniture  might  be  to  any  toiler  "cribbed,  cabin'd  and  con 
fined"  in  fetid  East  Side  tenement  or  squalid  room  on 
Hester  Street. 

The  elevator  boy  bowed  before  his  presence.  Edwards 
hesitated  to  enter  the  private  elevator,  with  this  world- 
master;  but  Flint  beckoned  him  to  come  along.  And 
so,  borne  aloft  by  the  smooth  force  of  the  electric  motor, 
they  presently  reached  the  upper  floor  where  "Tiger" 
Waldron  laired  in  stately  splendor,  like  the  nabob  th>u 
he  was. 

Without  ceremony,  Flint  pushed  forward  into  the  bed 
chamber  of  the  mighty  one — a  chamber  richly  finisher! 
in  panels  of  the  rare  sea-grape  tree,  brought  from  Pacific 
isles  at  great  cost  of  money  and  some  expenditure  of  hu 
man  lives;  but  this  latter  item  was,  of  course,  beneath 
consideration. 

By  the  softened  light  which  entered  through  rich  cur 
tains,  one  saw  the  famous  frieze  of  De  Lussac,  that  banded 
the  apartment,  over  the  panelling — the  frieze  of  Bac 
chantes,  naked  and  unashamed,  revelling  with  Satyrs  in 
an  abandon  that  bespoke  the  age  when  the  world  was 
young.  Their  voluptuous  forms  entwined  with  clustering 
grapes  and  leaves,  they  poured  tipsy  libations  of  red  wine 
from  golden  chalices;  while  old  Silenus,  god  of  drink, 
astride  a  donkey,  applauded  with  maudlin  joy. 


42  THE     AIR    TRUST 

Flint,  however,  had  no  eyes  for  this  scene  which  would 
have  gladdened  a  voluptuary's  heart — and  which,  for  that 
reason  was  dear  to  Waldron — but  walked  toward  the 
huge,  four-posted  bed  where  Wally  himself,  now  rather 
paler  than  usual,  with  bloodshot  eyes,  was  tying.  This 
bed,  despite  the  fact  that  it  had  been  transported  all  the 
way  from  Tours,  France,  and  that  it  once  had  belonged 
to  an  archbishop,  had  only  too  often  witnessed  its  own 
er's  insomnia. 

"Hm!  You're  a  devil  of  a  man  to  keep  an  appoint 
ment,  aren't  you?"  Flint  sneered  at  the  master  of  the 
house.  "Eleven  o'clock,  and  not  up,  yet!" 

"Pardon  me  for  remarking,  my  dear  Flint,"  replied 
Waldron,  stretching  himself  between  the  silken  sheets 
and  reaching  for  a  cigarette,  "that  the  appointment  was 
not  of  my  making.  Also  that  I  was  up,  last  night — this 
morning,  rather — till  three-thirty.  And  in  the  next  place, 
that  scoundrel  Hazeltine,  trimmed  me  out  of  eighty-six 
thousand  in  four  hours " 

"Roulette  again,  you  idiot?"  demanded  Flint. 

"And  in  conclusion,"  said  Wally,  "that  the  bigness  of 
my  head  and  the  brown  taste  in  my  mouth  are  such  as 
no  'soda  and  sermons,  the  morning  after*  can  possibly 
alleviate.  So  you  understand  my  dalliance. 

"Damn  those  workmen!"  he  exclaimed,  with  sudden 
irritation,  as  a  louder  chattering  of  pneumatic  riveters 
from  the  new  building  all  at  once  clattered  in  at  the 
window.  "A  free  country,  eh?  And  men  are  permitted 
to  make  that  kind  of  a  racket  when  a  fellow  wants  to 
sleep!  By  God,  if  I  " 

"Drop  that,  Wally,  and  get  up!"  commanded  Flint. 
"There's  no  time  for  this  kind  of  thing  to-day.  Herzog 


AN     INTERLOPER  43 

has  just  informed  me  his  experiments  have  brought  re 
sults.  We're  going  down  to  Oakwood  Heights  to  see  a 
few  things  for  ourselves.  And  the  quicker  you  get  drecsed 
and  in  your  right  mind,  the  better.  Come  along,  I  tell 
you!" 

"Still  chasing  sunbeams  from  cucumbers,  eh?"  drawled 
the  magnate,  inhaling  cigarette  smoke  and  blowing  a  thin 
cloud  toward  the  wanton  Bacchantes.  He  affected  indif 
ference,  but  his  dull  eyes  brightened  a  trifle  in  his  wan 
face,  deep-lined  by  the  savage  dissipations  of  the  previous 
night.  "And  you  insist  on  dragging  me  out  on  the  same 
fatuous  errand?" 

"Don't  be  an  ass!"  snapped  the  Billionaire.  "Get  up 
and  come  along.  The  sooner  we  have  this  thing  under 
way,  the  better." 

"All  right,  anything  to  oblige,"  conceded  Waldron,  in 
wardly  stirred  by  an  interest  he  took  good  care  not  to 
divulge  in  word  or  look.  "Give  me  just  time  for  a  cold 
plunge,  a  few  minutes  with  my  masseur  and  my  barber,  a 
bite  to  eat  and " 

Flint  laid  hold  on  his  partner  and  shook  him  roughly. 

"Move,  you  sluggard!"  he  commanded.  And  Tiger 
Waldron  obeyed. 

Forty-five  minutes  later,  the  two  financiers  were  speed 
ing  down  the  asphalt  of  the  avenue  at  a  good  round  clip. 
Flint's  gleaming  car  formed  one  unit  of  the  never-ending 
procession  of  motors  which,  day  and  night,  year  in  and 
year  out,  spin  unceasingly  along  the  great,  hard,  splen 
did,  cruel  thoroughfare. 

"I  tell  you,"  Flint  was  asserting  as  they  swung  into 
Broadway,  at  Twenty-third  Street,  and  headed  for  South 


44  THE    AIR    TRUST 

Ferry,  "I  tell  you,  Wally,  the  thing  is  growing  vaster 
and  more  potent  every  moment.  The  longer  I  look  at  it, 
the  huger  its  possibilities  loom  up!  With  air  under  our 
control,  as  a  source  of  manufacturing  alone,  we  can  pull 
down  perfectly  inconceivable  fortunes.  We  shan't  have 
to  send  anywhere  for  our  raw  material.  It  will  come  to 
us;  it's  everywhere.  No  cost  for  transportation,  to  begin 
with. 

"With  oxygen,  nitrogen  and  liquid  air  as  products, 
think  of  the  possibilities,  will  you?  Not  an  ice-plant  in 
the  country  could  compete  with  us,  in  the  refrigerating 
line.  With  liquid  air,  we  could  sweep  that  market  clean. 
By  installing  it  on  our  fruit  cars  and  boats,  and  our  beef 
cars,  the  saving  effected  in  many  ways  would  run  to  mil 
lions.  The  sale  of  nitrogen,  for  fertilizer,  would  net  us 
billions.  And,  above  all,  the  control  of  the  world's  air 
supply,  for  breathing,  would  make  us  the  absolute,  un 
disputed  masters  of  mankind! 

"We'd  have  the  world  by  the  windpipe.  Its  very  life- 
breath  would  be  at  our  disposal.  Ha !  What  about  revo 
lution,  then?  What  about  popular  discontent,  and  stiff- 
necked  legislators,  and  cranky  editors?  What  about 
commercial  and  financial  rivals?  What  about  these 
damned  Socialists,  with  their  brass-lunged  bazoo,  howling 
about  monopoly  and  capitalism  and  all  the  rest  of  it? 
Eh,  what?  Just  one  squeeze,"  here  Flint  closed  his  cord 
ed,  veinous  fingers,  "just  one  tightening  of  the  fist,  and 
— all  over!  We  win,  hands  down!" 

"Like  shutting  the  wind  off  from  a  runaway  horse, 
eh  ?"  suggested  Waldron,  squinting  at  his  cigar  as  though 


AN     INTERLOPER  45 

to  hide  the  involuntary  gleam  of  light  that  sparkled  in 
his  narrow-set  eyes. 

* 'Precisely!"  assented  Flint,  smiling  his  gold- toothed 
smile.  "The  wildest  bolter  has  got  to  stop,  or  fall  dead, 
once  you  close  his  nostrils.  That's  what  we'll  do  to  the 
world,  Wally.  We'll  get  it  by  the  throat — and  there  you 
are!" 

"Yes,  there  we  are,"  repeated  Waldron,  "but " 

"But  what,  now  ?" 

Waldron  did  not  answer,  for  a  moment,  but  squinted 
up  at  the  tall  buildings,  temples  of  Mammon  and  of  Greed, 
filled  from  pave  to  cornice  with  toiling,  sweated  hordes 
of  men  and  women,  all  laboring  for  Capitalism;  many  of 
them,  directly  or  indirectly,  for  him.  Then,  as  the  limou 
sine  slowed  at  Spring  Street,  to  let  a  cross-town  car  pass — 
a  car  whose  earnings  he  and  Flint  both  shared,  just  as 
they  shared  those  of  every  surface  and  subway  and  "L" 
car  in  the  vast  metropolis — he  said : 

"Have  you  weighed  the  consequences  carefully,  Flint? 
Quite  carefully?  This  thing  of  cornering  all  the  oxygen 
is  a  pretty  big  proposition.  Do  you  think  you  really  ought 
to  undertake  it?" 

"Why  not?" 

"Have  you  considered  the  frightful  suffering  and  loss 
of  life  it  might  entail?  Almost  certainly  would  entail? 
Are  you  quite  sure  you  want  to  take  the  world  by  the 
throat  and — and  choke  it?  For  money?" 

"No,  not  for  money,  Waldron.  We're  both  staggering 
under  money,  as  it  is.  But  power !  Ah,  that's  different !" 

"I  know,"  admitted  Waldron.  "But  ought  we— you — 
to  attempt  this,  even  for  the  sake  of  universal  power? 
Your  plan  contemplates  a  monopoly  such  that  everybody 


46  THE    AIR    TRUST 

who  refused  or  was  unable  to  buy  your  product  would,  at 
best,  have  to  get  along  with  vitiated  air,  and  at  worst 
would  have  to  stifle.  Do  you  really  think  we  ought  to 
undertake  this?" 

Keenly  he  eyed  Flint,  as  he  thus  sounded  the  elder 
man's  inhuman  determination.  Flint,  fathoming  nothing 
of  his  purpose,  retorted  with  some  heat: 

"Ha!  Getting  punctilious,  all  at  once,  are  you?  Talk 
ing  ethics,  eh?  Where  were  your  scruples,  a  year  ago, 
when  people  were  paying  25  cents  a  loaf  for  bread,  because 
of  that  big  wheat  pool  you  put  through?  How  about  the 
oil  you've  just  lately  helped  me  boost  by  a  20  per  cent, 
increase  ?  And  when  the  papers — though  mostly  those  in 
fernal  Socialist  or  Anarchist  papers,  or  whatever  they 
were — shouted  that  old  men  and  women  were  freezing  in 
attics,  last  winter,  what  then?  Did  you  vote  to  arbitrate 
the  D.  K.  coal  strike?  Not  by  a  jugful!  You  stood  shoul 
der  to  shoulder  with  me,  then,  Wally,  while  now !" 

"It's  a  bit  different,  now,"  interposed  "Tiger,"  with 
an  evil  smile,  still  leading  his  partner  along.  "Since  then 
I've  had  the — ah — the  extreme  happiness  to  become  en 
gaged  to  your  daughter,  Catherine.  New  thoughts  have 
entered  my  mind.  I've  experienced  a — a " 

"You  quitter!"  burst  out  Flint.  "No,  by  God!  you 
aren't  going  to  put  this  thing  over  on  me.  I'll  have  no 
quitter  for  my  son-in-law !  Wally,  I'm  astonished  at  you. 
Astonished  and  disappointed.  You're  not  yourself,  this 
morning.  That  eighty-six  thousand  you  dropped  last 
night,  has  shaken  your  heart.  Come,  come,  pull  together! 
Where's  your  nerve,  man?  Where's  your  nerve?" 

Waldron  answered  nothing.  In  silence  the  partners 
watched  the  press  of  traffic,  each  busy  with  his  own 


AN     INTERLOPER  47 

thoughts,  Waldron  waiting  for  Flint  to  reopen  fire  on 
him,  and  the  Billionaire  decided  to  say  no  more  till  hi? 
associate  should  make  some  move.  Thus  the  limousine 
reached  the  Staten  Island  ferry,  that  glorious  monument 
of  municipal  ownership  wrecked  by  Tammany  grafting. 
In  silence  they  smoked  while  the  car  rolled  down  the 
incline  and  out  onto  the  huge  ferry  boat.  Then,  as  the 
crowded  craft  got  under  way,  a  minute  later,  both  men 
left  the  car  and  strolled  to  the  rail  to  watch  the  glittering 
sparkle  of  the  sunlight  on  the  harbor;  the  teeming  com 
merce  of  the  port;  the  creeping  liners  and  busy  tugs;  the 
towering  figure  of  Liberty,  her  flameless  torch  held  far 
aloft  in  mockery. 

Suddenly  Waldron   spoke. 

"You  can't  do  it,  I  tell  you!"  said  he,  waving  an  elo 
quent  hand  toward  the  sky.  "It's  too  big,  the  air  is,  as 
I  said  before.  Too  damned  big!  Own  coal  and  copper, 
if  you  will,  and  steel  and  ships,  here;  own  those  buildings 
back  there,"  with  a  gesture  at  the  frowning  line  of  sky 
scrapers  buttressing  Manhattan,  "but  don't  buck  the  im 
possible!  And  incidentally,  Flint,  don't  misunderstand 
me.  either.  When  I  asked  you  if  we  ought  to  try  it,  I 
merely  meant,  would  it  be  safe?  The  world,  Flint,  is  a 
dangerous  toy  to  play  with,  too  hard.  The  people  are 
perilous  baubles,  if  you  step  on  their  corns  a  bit  too  often 
or  too  heavily.  Every  Caesar  has  a  Brutus  waiting  for 
him  somewhere,  with  a  club. 

"Once  let  the  unwashed  get  an  idea  into  their  low 
brows,  and  you  can't  tell  where  it  may  lead  them.  Even 
a  rat  fights,  in  its  last  corner.  These  human  rats  of  ours 
have  been  getting  a  bit  nasty  of  late.  True,  they  swal 
lowed  the  Limited  Franchise  Bill,  three  years  ago,  with 


48  THE    AIR    TRUST 

only  a  little  futile  protest,  so  that  now  we've  got  them 
politically  hamstrung.  True,  there's  the  Dick  Military 
Bill,  recently  enlarged  and  perfected,  so  they  can't  move 
a  hand  without  falling  into  treason  and  court-martial. 
True  again,  they've  stood  for  the  Censorship  and  the  Na 
tional  Mounted  Police — the  Grays all  in  the  last  year. 

But  how  much  more  will  they  stand,  eh?  You  close 
your  hand  on  their  windpipes,  and  by  God!  something 
may  happen  even  yet,  after  all !" 

Flinto  snapped  his  fingers  with  contempt. 

"Machine  guns!"  was  all  he  said. 

"Yes,  of  course,"  answered  Waldron.  "But  there  may 
be  life  in  the  old  beast  yet.  They  may  yet  kick  the  apple 
cart  over — and  us  with  it.  You  never  can  tell.  And  those 
infernal  Socialists,  always  at  it,  night  and  day,  never 
letting  up,  flinging  firebrands  into  the  powder  magazine! 
Sometime  there's  going  to  be  one  hell  of  a  bang,  Flint! 
And  when  it  comes,  suave  qui  peut!  So  go  slow,  old 
man — go  damned  slow,  that's  all  I've  got  to  say !" 

"On  the  contrary,"  said  Flint,  blinking  in  the  golden 
spring  sunshine  as  he  peered  out  over  the  swashing  brine 
at  a  raucous  knot  of  gulls,  "on  the  contrary,  Wally,  I'm 
going  to  push  it  as  fast  as  the  Lord  will  let  me.  You 
can  come  in,  or  not,  as  you  see  fit — but  remember  this,  no 
quitter  ever  gets  a  daughter  of  mine!  And  another  thing; 
we're  in  the  year  1921,  now,  not  1910  or  1915.  Develop 
ments,  political  and  otherwise,  have  moved  swiftly,  these 
few  years  past.  Then,  there  might  have  been  trouble. 
To-day,  there  can't  be.  We've  got  things  cinched  too  tight 
for  that! 

"Ten  years  ago,  they  might  have  had  our  blood,  the 
people  might,  or  given  us  a  hemp-tea  party  in  Wall  Street. 


AN     INTERLOPER  49 

To-day,  all's  safe.  Come,  be  a  man  and  grip  your  cour 
age!  We  can  put  the  initial  stages  through  in  absolute 
secrecy — and  then,  once  we  get  our  clutch  on  the  world's 
breath,  what  have  we  to  fear?" 

"Go  slow,  Flint!" 

"Nonsense!  Oxygen  is  life  itself.  There's  no  substi 
tute.  Vitiate  the  air  by  removing  even  10  per  cent,  of  it, 
and  the  world  will  lick  our  boots  for  a  chance  to  breathe ! 
Everybody's  got  to  have  oxygen,  all  the  way  from  kings 
and  emperors  down  to  the  toiling  cattle,  the  Henry  Dubbs, 
as  I  believe  they're  commonly  called  in  vulgar  speech.  Shut 
off  the  air,  and  'the  captains  and  the  kings'  will  run  to 
heel  like  the  rabble  itself.  Run  to  heel,  and  pay  for  the 
privilege  of  doing  it!  We've  got  the  universities,  press, 
churches,  laws,  judges,  army  and  navy  and  everything 
already  in  our  hands.  We'll  be  secure  enough,  no  fear!" 

"Shhhhh !"  And  Waldron  nudged  the  Billionaire  with 
his  elbow. 

In  his  excitement,  Flint  had  permitted  his  voice  to  rise, 
a  little.  Not  far  from  him,  leaning  on  the  rail,  a  stockily 
built  young  fellow  in  overalls,  a  cap  pulled  down  firmly 
over  his  well-shaped  head,  was  apparently  watching  the 
gulls  and  the  passing  boats,  with  eyes  no  less  blue  than 
the  bay  itself;  eyes  no  less  glinting  than  the  sunlight  on 
the  waves.  He  seemed  to  be  paying  no  heed  to  anything 
but  what  lay  before  him.  But  "Tiger"  Waldron,  pos 
sessed  of  something  of  the  instinct  of  the  beast  whose 
name  he  bore,  subconsciously  sensed  a  peril  in  his  near 
ness.  The  man's  ear — if  unusually  quick — might,  just 
might  possibly  have  caught  a  word  or  two  meant  for  no 
interloper.  And  at  that  thought,  Waldron  once  more 
nudged  his  partner. 


50  THE    AIR     TRUST 

"Shhh !"  he  repeated,  "Enough.  We  can  finish  this,  in 
the  limousine." 

Flint  looked  at  him  a  moment,  in  silence,  then  nodded. 

"Right  you  are,"  said  he.  And  both  men  climbed  back 
into  the  closed  car. 

"You  never  can  tell  what  ears  are  primed  for  news," 
said  Waldron.  "Better  take  no  chances." 

"Before  long,  we  can  throw  away  all  subterfuge,"  the 
Billionaire  replied  as  he  shut  the  door.  "But  for  now, 
well,  you're  correct.  Once  our  grasp  tightens  on  the 
windpipe  of  the  world,  we're  safe.  From  our  office  in 
Wall  Street  you  and  I  can  play  the  keys  of  the  world- 
machine  as  an  organist  would  finger  his  instrument.  But 
there  must  be  no  leak ;  no  publicity ;  no  suspicion  aroused. 
We'll  play  our  music  pianissimo,  Wally,  with  rare  accom 
paniments  to  the  tune  of  'great  public  utility,  benefit  to  the 
public  health/  and  all  that — the  same  old  game,  only  on 
a  vastly  larger  scale. 

"Every  modern  composer  in  the  field  of  Big  Business 
knows  that  score  and  has  played  it  many  times.  We  will 
play  it  on  a  monstrous  pipe  organ,  with  the  world's  lungs 
for  bellows  and  the  world's  breath  to  vibrate  our  reeds 
— and  all  paying  tribute,  night  and  day,  year  after  year, 
all  over  the  world,  Wally,  all  over  the  world ! 

"God!  What  power  shall  be  ours!  What  infinite 
txnver,  such  as,  since  time  began,  never  yet  lay  in  mortal 
hands!  We  shall  be  as  gods,  Waldron,  you  and  T — and 
between  us,  we  shall  bring  the  human  race  wallowing  to 
our  feet  in  helpless  bondage,  in  supreme  abandon !" 

The  ferry  boat,  nearin^  the  Staten  Island  landing, 
slowed  its  ponderous  screws.  The  chauffeur  flung  away 


AN    INTERLOPER  51 

his  cigarette,  drew  on  his  gauntlets  and  accelerated  his 
engine.  Forward  the  human  drove  began  to  press,  under 
the  long  slave-driven  habit  of  haste,  of  eagerness  to  do 
the  masters'  bidding. 

The  young  mechanic  by  the  rail — he  of  the  overalls 
and  keen  blue  eyes — turned  toward  the  bows,  picked  up  a 
canvas  bag  of  tools  and  stood  there  waiting  with  the  rest. 

For  a  moment  his  glance  rested  on  the  limousine  and 
the  two  half-seen  figures  within.  As  it  did  so,  a  wanton 
breeze  from  off  the  Island  flapped  back  the  lapel  of  his 
jumper.  In  that  brief  instant  one  might  have  seen  a  but 
ton  pinned  upon  his  blue  flannel  shirt — clasped  hands,  sur 
rounded  by  the  legend :  "Workers  of  the  World,  Unite !" 

But  neither  of  the  plutocrats  observed  this;  nor,  had 
they  seen,  would  they  have  understood. 

And  whether  the  sturdy  toiler  had  overheard  aught  of 
their  infernal  conspiring — or,  having  heard  it,  grasped  its 
dire  and  criminal  significance — who,  who  in  all  this  weary 
and  toil-burdened  world,  could  say? 


CHAPTER  V. 
IN  THE  LABORATORY. 

an  hour's  run  down  Staten  Island,  along 
smooth  roads  lined  with  sleepy  little  towns  and 
through  sparse  woods  beyond  which  sparkled  the  shining 
waters  of  the  harbor,  brought  the  two  plutocrats  to  the 
quiet  settlement  of  Oakwood  Heights. 

Now  the  blase  chauffeur  swung  the  car  sharply  to  the 
left,  past  the  aviation  field,  and  so  came  to  the  wide-scat 
tered  settlement — almost  a  colony — which,  hidden  behind 
high,  barb-wire-topped  fences,  carried  on  the  many  arid 
complex  activities  of  the  partners'  experiment  station. 
Here  were  the  several  laboratories  where  new  products 
were  evolved  and  old  ones  refined,  for  Flint's  and  Wal- 
dron's  greater  profit.  Here  stood  a  complete  electric  pow 
er  plant,  for  lighting  and  heating  the  works,  as  well  as 
for  current  to  use  in  the  retorts  and  many  powerful  ma 
chines  of  the  testing  works. 

Here,  again,  were  broad  proving  grounds,  for  fuel  and 
explosives ;  and,  at  one  side,  stood  a  low,  skylighted  group 
of  brick  buildings,  known  as  the  electro-chemical  station. 
Dormitories  and  boarding-houses  for  the  small  army  of 
employees  occupied  the  eastern  end  of  the  enclosure,  near 
est  the  sea.  Over  all,  high  chimney  stacks  and  the  aerials 
of  a  mighty  wireless  plant  dominated  the  entire  works. 
A  private  railroad  spur  pierced  the  western  side  of  the 
enclosure,  for  food  and  coal  supplies,  as  well  as  for  the 


IN    THE    LABORATORY  53 

handling  of  the  numerous  imports  and  exports  of  this 
wonderfully  complete  feudal  domain.  As  the  colony  lay 
there  basking  in  the  sunshine  of  early  spring,  under  its 
drifting  streamers  of  smoke,  it  seemed  an  ideal  picture  of 
peaceful  activities.  Here  a  locomotive  puffed,  shunting 
cars;  there,  a  steam- jet  flung  its  plumes  of  snowy  vapor 
into  air;  yonder,  a  steam  hammer  thundered  on  a  massive 
anvil.  And  forges  rang,  and  through  open  windows  hum 
med  sounds  of  industry. 

And  yet,  not  one  of  all  those  sounds  but  echoed  more 
bitter  slavery  for  men.  Not  one  of  all  those  many  activi 
ties  but  boded  ill  to  humanity.  For  the  whole  plan  and 
purpose  of  the  place  was  the  devising  of  still  wider  forms 
of  human  exploitation  and  enslavement.  Its  every  motive 
was  to  serve  the  greed  of  Flint  and  Waldron.  Outwardly 
honest  and  industrious,  it  inwardly  loomed  sinister  and 
terrible,  a  type  and  symbol  of  its  masters'  swiftly  growing 
power.  Such,  in  its  essence,  was  the  great  experiment 
station  of  these  two  men  who  lusted  for  dominion  over 
the  whole  world. 

As  the  long,  glittering  car  drew  up  at  the  main  gate 
of  the  enclosure,  a  sharp-eyed  watchman  peered  through 
a  sliding  wicket  therein.  Satisfied  by  his  inspection,  he 
withdrew ;  and  at  once  the  big  gate  rolled  back,  smoothly 
actuated  by  electricity.  The  car  purred  onward,  into  the 
enclosure.  When  the  gate  had  closed  noiselessly  behind 
it,  the  chauffeur  ran  it  down  a  splendidly  paved  roadway, 
swung  to  the  right,  past  the  machine  shops,  and  drew  it 
to  a  stand  in  front  of  the  administration  building. 

Flint  and  his  partner  alighted,  and  stood  for  a  moment 


54  THE    AIR    TRUST 

surveying  the  scene  with  satisfaction.  Then  Flint  turned 
to  the  chauffeur. 

'Tut  the  car  in  the  garage,"  he  directed.  ''We  may 
not  want  it  till  afternoon." 

The  blase  one  touched  his  cap  and  nodded,  in  obedience. 
Then,  as  the  car  withdrew,  the  partners  ascended  the 
broad  steps. 

"Good  chap,  that  Herrick,"  commented  Waldron,  cast 
ing  a  glance  at  the  retreating  chauffeur.  "Quick-witted, 
and  mum.  Give  me  a  man  who  knows  how  to  mind  and 
keep  still  about  it,  every  time!" 

"Right,"  assented  Flint.  "Obedience  is  the  first  of  all 
virtues,  and  the  second  is  silence.  Well,  it  looks  to  me  as 
though  we  had  the  whole  world  coming  our  way,  now, 
along  that  very  same  path  of  virtue.  Once  we  get  this 
air  proposition  really  to  working,  the  world  will  obey. 
It  will  have  to!  And  as  for  silence,  we  can  manage  that, 
too.  The  mere  turn  of  a  valve,  and !" 

Waldron  smiled  grimly,  as  though  in  derision  of  what 
he  seemed  to  think  his  partner's  chimerical  hopes,  but 
made  no  answer.  Together  they  entered  the  administra 
tion  building.  Five  minutes  later,  Herzog,  their  servile 
experimenter,  stood  bowing  and  cringing  before  them. 

"Got  it,  Herzog?"  demanded  Flint,  while  Waldron 
lighted  still  another  of  those  costly  cigars — each  one  worth 
a  good  mechanic's  daily  wage. 

"Yes,  sir,  I  believe  so,  sir,"  the  scientist  replied,  deprc- 
catingly.  "That  is,  at  least,  on  a  small  scale.  Two  weeks 
was  the  time  you  allowed  me,  sir,  but " 

"I  know.  You've  done  it  in  eleven  days,"  interrupted, 
the  Billionaire.  "Very  well.  I  knew  you  could.  You'll 


IN    THE    LABORATORY  55 

lose  nothing  by  it.  So  no  more  of  that.  Show  us  what 
you've  done.  Everything  all  ready?" 

"Quite  ready,  sir,"  the  other  answered.  "If  you'll  be 
so  good  as  to  step  into  the  electro-chemical  building?" 

Flint  very  graciously  signified  his  willingness  thus  to 
condescend;  and  without  delay,  accompanied  by  the  still 
incredulous  Waldron,  and  followed  by  Herzog,  he  passed 
out  of  the  administration  building,  through  a  covered 
passage  and  into  the  electro-chemical  works. 

A  variety  of  strange  odors  and  stranger  sounds  filled 
this  large  brick  structure,  windowless  on  every  side  and 
lighted  only  by  broad  skylights  of  milky  wire-glass — this 
arrangement  being  due  to  the  extreme  secrecy  of  many 
processes  here  going  forward.  The  partners  had  no  in 
tention  that  any  spying  eyes  should  ever  so  much  as 
glimpse  the  work  in  this  department;  work  involving 
foods,  .fuels,  power,  lighting,  almost  the  entire  range  of 
the  vast  net\vork  of  exploiting  media  they  had  already 
flung  over  a  tired  world. 

"This  way,  gentlemen,"  ventured  Herzog,  pointing  to 
ward  a  metal  door  at  the  left  of  the  main  room.  He 
unlocked  this,  which  was  guarded  by  a  combination  lock, 
like  that  of  a  bank  vault,  and  waited  for  them  to  enter; 
then  closed  it  after  them,  and  made  quite  sure  the  metal 
door  was  fast. 

A  peculiar,  pungent  smell  greeted  the  partners'  nostrils 
as  they  glanced  about  the  inner  laboratory.  At  one  side 
an  electric  furnace  was  glowing  with  graphite  crucibles 
subjected  to  terrific  heat.  On  the  other  a  dynamo  was 
humming.  Before  them  a  broad,  tiled  bench  held  a  strange 
assortment  of  test  tubes,  retorts  and  complex  apparatus 
of  glass  and  gleaming  metal.  The  whole  was  lighted  by 


56  THE    AIR    TRUST 

a  strong  white  light  from  above,  through  the  milk-hued 
glass — one  of  Herzog' s  own  inventions,  by  the  way;  a 
wonderful,  light-intensifying  glass,  which  would  bend  but 
not  break;  an  invention  which,  had  he  himself  profited 
by  it,  would  have  brought  him  millions,  but  which  the 
partners  had  exploited  without  ever  having  given  him  a 
single  penny  above  his  very  moderate  salary. 

"Is  that  it?"  demanded  Flint,  a  glitter  lighting  up  his 
morphia-contracted  pupils.  He  jerked  his  thumb  at  a 
complicated  nexus  of  tubes,  brass  cylinders,  coiled  wires 
and  glistening  retorts  which  stood  at  one  end  of  the  broad 
work-bench. 

"That  is  it,  sir,"  answered  Herzog,  apologetically,  while 
"Tiger"  Waldron's  hard  face  hardened  even  more.  "Only 
an  experimental  model,  you  understand,  sir,  but " 

"It  gets  results?"  queried  Flint  sharply.  "It  produces 
oxygen  and  nitrogen  on  a  scale  that  indicates  success,  with 
adequate  apparatus?" 

"Yes,  sir.  I  believe  so,  sir.  No  doubt  about  it;  none 
whatever." 

"Good!"  exclaimed  the  Billionaire.     "Now  show  us!" 

"With  pleasure,  sir.    But  first,  let  me  explain,  a  little." 

"Well,  what?"  demanded  Flint.  His  partner,  mean 
while,  had  drawn  near  the  apparatus,  and  was  studying 
it  with  a  most  intense  concentration.  Plain  to  see,  be 
neath  this  man's  foppish  exterior  and  affected  cynicism, 
dwelt  powerful  purposes  and  keen  intelligence. 

"Explain  what?"  repeated  the  Billionaire.  "As  far 
as  details  go,  I'm  not  interested.  All  I  want  is  results.  Go 
ahead,  Herzog;  start  your  machine  and  let  me  see  what 
it  can  do." 

"I  will,  sir,"  acceded  the  scientist.     "But  first,  with 


IN     THE    LABORATORY  57 

your  permission,  I'll  point  out  a  few  of  its  main  features, 
and " 

"Damn  the  main  features!"  cried  Flint.  "Get  busy 
with  the  demonstration !" 

"Hold  on,  hold  on,"  now  interrupted  Waldron.  "Let 
him  discourse,  if  he  wants  to.  Ever  know  a  scientist 
who  wasn't  primed  to  the  muzzle  with  expositions  ?  Here, 
Herzog,"  he  added,  turning  to  the  inventor,  "I'll  listen, 
if  nobody  else  will." 

Undecided,  Herzog  smiled  nervously.  Even  Flint  had 
to  laugh  at  his  indecision. 

"All  right,  go  on,"  said  the  Billionaire.  "Only  for 
God's  sake,  make  it  brief!" 

Herzog,  thus  adjured,  cleared  his  throat  and  blinked 
uneasily. 

"Oxygen,"  he  said.  "Yes,  I  can  produce  it  quickly, 
easily  and  in  large  quantities.  As  a  gas,  or  as  a  liquid, 
which  can  be  shipped  to  any  desired  point  and  there  trans 
formed  into  gaseous  form.  Liquid  air  can  also  be  pro 
duced  by  this  same  machine,  for  refrigerating  purposes. 
You  understand,  of  course,  that  when  liquid  air  evapo 
rates,  it  is  only  the  nitrogen  that  goes  back  into  the  at 
mosphere  at  313  degrees  below  zero.  The  residue  is 
pure  liquid  oxygen.  In  other  words,  this  apparatus  will 
make  money  as  a  liquid  air  plant,  and  furnish  you  oxygen 
as  a  by-product. 

"It  will  also  turn  out  nitrogen,  for  fertilizing  purposes. 
The  income  from  a  full-sized  machine,  on  this  pattern, 
from  all  three  sources,  should  be  very  large  indeed." 

"Good,"  put  in  Waldron.  "And  liquid  air,  for  example, 
would  cost  how  much  to  produce?" 

"With  power-cost  at  half  a  cent  per  H.  P.  hour,  about 


58  THE     AIR     TRUST 

$2.50  a  ton.  The  oxygen  by-product  alone  will  more  than 
pay  for  that,  in  purifying  and  cooling  buildings,  or  used 
to  promote  combustion  in  locomotives  and  other  steam 
engines.  The  liquid  air  itself  can  be  used  as  a  motive 
power  for  a  certain  type  of  expansion  engine,  or " 

"There,  there,  that's  enough!"  interposed  Flint, 
brusquely.  "We  don't  need  any  of  your  advice  or  sug 
gestions,  Herzog.  As  far  as  the  disposal  of  the  product 
is  concerned,  we  can  take  care  of  that.  All  we  want 
from  you  is  the  assurance  that  that  product  can  be  ob- 
tined,  easily  and  cheaply,  and  in  unlimited  quantities.  Is 
that  the  case?" 

"It  is,  sir." 

"All  right.  And  can  liquid  oxygen  be  easily  trans 
ported  any  considerable  distance?" 

"Yes,  sir.  In  what  is  known  as  Place's  Vacuum- jack 
eted  Insulated  Container,  it  can  be  kept  for  weeks  at  a 
time  without  any  appreciable  loss." 

Flint  pondered  a  moment,  then  asked,  again : 

"Could  large  tanks,  holding  say,  a  million  gallons,  be 
built  on  that  principle,  for  wholesale  storage  ?  And  could 
vacuum- jacketed  pipes  be  laid,  for  conveying  liquid  oxy 
gen  or  its  gas?" 

"No  reason  why  not,  sir.  Yes,  I  may  say  all  that  is 
quite  feasible." 

"Very  well,  then,"  snapped  Flint.  "That's  enough  for 
the  present.  Now,  show  us  your  machine  at  work !  Start 
it  Herzog.  Let's  see  what  you  can  do !" 

The  Billionaire's  eyes  glittered  as  Herzog  laid  a  hand 
on  a  gleaming  switch.  Even  Waldron  forgot  to  smoke. 

"Gentlemen,  observe,"  said  Herzog,  as  he  threw  the 
lever. 


CHAPTER  VI. 
OXYGEN,  KING  OF  INTOXICATORS. 

gSOFT  humming  note  began  to  vibrate  through  the 
inner  laboratory — a  note  which  rcse  in  pitch, 
steadily,  as  Herzog  shoved  the  lever  from  one  copper  post 
to  another,  round  the  half-circle. 

"I  am  now  heating  the  little  firebrick  furnace,"  said  the 
scientist.  "In  Norway,  they  use  an  alternating  current 
of  only  5,000  volts,  between  water-cooled  copper  elec 
trodes,  as  I  have  already  told  you.  I  am  using  30,000 
volts,  and  my  electrodes,  my  own  invention,  are " 

"Never  mind,"  growled  Flint.  "Just  let's  see  some  of 
the  product — some  liquid  oxygen,  that's  all.  The  why 
and  wherefore  is  your  job,  not  ours!" 

Herzog,  with  a  pained  smile,  bent  and  peered  through 
a  red  glass  bull's-eye  that  now  had  begun  to  glow  in  the 
side  of  his  apparatus. 

"The  arc  is  good,"  he  muttered,  as  to  himself.  "Now 
I  will  throw  in  the  electro-magnets  and  spread  it;  then 
switch  in  my  intensifying  condenser,  and  finally  set  the 
turbine  fans  to  work,  to  throw  air  through  the  field.  Then 
we  shall  see,  we  shall  see!" 

Suiting  the  action  to  the  words,  he  deftly  touched  here 
a  button,  there  a  lever;  and  all  at  once  a  shrill  buzzing 
rose  above  the  lower  drone  of  the  induction  coils. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Herzog,  straightening  up  and  facing 
his  employers,  "the  process  is  now  already  at  work.  In 


60  THE    AIR    TRUST 

five  minutes — yes,  in  three — I  shall  have  results  to  show 
you!" 

"Good!"  grunted  Waldron.  "That's  all  we're  after, 
results.  That's  the  only  way  you  hold  your  job,  Herzog, 
just  getting  results!" 

He  relighted  his  cigar,  which  had  gone  out  during 
Herzog's  explanation — for  ' 'Tiger"  Waldron,  though  he 
could  drop  thousands  at  roulette  without  turning  a  hair, 
never  yet  had  been  known  to  throw  away  a  cigar  less 
than  half  smoked.  Flint,  meanwhile,  took  out  a  little 
morocco-covered  note  book  and  made  a  few  notes.  In  this 
book  he  had  kept  an  outline  of  his  plan  from  the  very 
first;  and  now  with  pleasure  he  added  some  memoranda, 
based  on  what  Herzog  had  just  told  him,  as  well  as  ob 
servations  on  the  machine  itself. 

Thus  two  minutes  passed,  then  three. 

"Time's  up,  Herzog !"  exclaimed  Waldron,  glancing  at 
the  electric  clock  on  the  wall.  "Where's  the  juice?" 

"One  second,  sir,"  answered  the  scientist.  Again  he 
peeked  through  the  glowing  bull's-eye.  Then,  his  face 
slightly  pale,  his  bulging  eyes  blinking  nervously,  he  took 
two  small  flint  glass  bottles,  set  them  under  a  couple  of 
pipettes,  and  deftly  made  connections. 

"Oxygen  cocktail  for  mine,"  laughed  Waldron,  to  cover 
a  certain  emotion  he  could  not  help  feeling  at  sight  of 
the  actual  operation  of  a  process  which  might,  after  all, 
open  out  ways  and  means  for  the  utter  subjugation  of  the 
world. 

Neither  Flint  nor  the  inventor  vouchsafed  even  a  smile. 
The  Billionaire  drew  near,  adjusted  a  pair  of  pir.ce-nez 
on  his  hawk-like  nose,  and  peered  curiously  at  the  appara- 


OXYGEN,  KING  OF  INTOXICATORS        61 

tus.  Herzog,  with  a  quick  gesture,  turned  a  small  silver 
faucet. 

"Oxygen!  Unlimited  oxygen !"  he  exclaimed.  "I  have 
found  the  process,  gentlemen,  commercially  practicable. 
Oxygen !" 

Even  as  he  spoke,  a  lambent,  sparkling  liquid  began  to 
flow  through  the  pipette,  into  the  flask.  At  sight  of  it,  the 
Billionaire's  eyes  lighted  up  with  triumph.  Waldron,  de 
spite  his  assumed  nonchalance,  felt  the  hunting  thrill  of 
Wall  street,  the  quick  stab  of  exultation  when  victory 
seemed  well  in  hand. 

"These  bottles,"  said  Herzog,  "are  double,  constructed 
on  the  principle  of  the  Thermos  bottle.  They  will  keep  the 
liquid  gases  I  shall  show  you,  for  days.  Huge  tanks  could 
be  built  on  the  same  principle.  In  a  short  time,  gentle 
men,  you  can  handle  tons  of  these  gases,  if  you  like — 
thousands  of  tons,  unlimited  tons. 

"The  Siemens  and  Halske  people,  and  the  Great  Falls, 
S.  C,  plant,  will  be  mere  puttering  experimenters  beside 
you.  For  neither  they  nor  any  other  manufacturers  have 
any  knowldge  of  the  vital  process — my  secret,  polarizing 
transformer,  which  does  the  work  in  one-tenth  the  time 
and  at  one-hundreth  the  cost  of  any  other  known  process. 
For  example,  see  here?" 

He  turned  the  faucet,  disconnected  the  flask  and  handed 
it  to  Flint. 

"There,  sir,"  he  remarked,  "is  a  half-pint  of  pure  liquid 
oxygen,  drawn  from  the  air  in  less  than  eight  minutes,  at 
a  cost  of  perhaps  two-tenths  of  a  cent.  On  a  large  scale 
the  cost  can  be  vastly  reduced.  Are  you  satisfied,  sir  ?" 

Flint  nodded,  curtly. 

"You'll  do,   Herzog,"  he  replied — his  very  strongest 


62  THE    AIR    TRUST 

form  of  commendation.  "You're  not  half  bad,  after  all. 
So  this  is  liquid  oxygen,  eh?  Very  cheap,  and  very 
cold?" 

His  eyes  gleamed  with  joy  at  sight  of  the  translucent 
potent  stuff — the  very  stuff  of  life,  its  essence  and  prime 
principle,  without  which  neither  plant  nor  animal  nor 
man  can  live — oxygen,  mother  of  all  life,  sustainer  of  the 
world. 

"Very  cheap,  yes,  sir,"  answered  the  scientist.  "And 
cold,  enormously  cold.  The  specimen  you  hold  in  your 
hand,  in  that  vacuum-protected  flask,  is  more  than  three 
hundred  degrees  below  zero.  One  drop  of  it  on  your 
palm  would  burn  it  to  the  bone.  Incidentally,  let  me  tell 
you  another  fact " 

"And  that  is?" 

"This  specimen  is  the  allotropic  or  condensed  form  of 
oxygen,  much  more  powerful  than  the  usual  liquified  gas." 

"Ozone,  you  mean?" 

"Precisely.  Would  you  like  to  sense  its  effect  as  a 
ventilating  agent?" 

"No  danger?" 

"None,  sir.  Here,  allow  me." 

Herzog  took  the  flask,  pressed  a  little  spring  and  liber 
ated  the  top.  At  once  a  whitish  vapor  began  to  coil  from 
the  neck  of  the  bottle. 

"Hm!"  grunted  Waldron,  smiling.  "Mountain  winds 
and  sea  breezes  have  nothing  on  that!"  He  sniffed  with 
appreciation.  "Some  gas,  all  right!" 

"You're  right,  Wally,"  answered  the  Billionaire.  "If 
this  works  out  on  a  large  scale,  in  all  its  details — well 
— I  needn't  impress  its  importance  on  you!" 


OXYGEN,  KING  OF  INTOXICATORS        63 

Yielding  to  the  influence  of  the  wonderful,  life-giving 
gas,  the  rather  close  air  of  the  laboratory,  contaminated 
by  a  variety  of  chemical  odors,  and  vitiated  by  its  recent 
loss  of  oxygen,  had  begun  to  freshen  and  purify  itself  in 
an  astonishing  manner.  One  would  have  thought  that 
through  an  open  window,  close  at  hand,  the  purest  ocean 
breeze  was  blowing.  A  faint  tinge  of  color  began  to 
liven  the  somewhat  pasty  cheek  of  the  Billionaire.  Wal- 
dron's  big  chest  expanded  and  his  eye  brightened.  Even 
the  meek  Herzog  stood  straighter  and  looked  more  the 
man,  under  the  stimulus  of  the  life-giving  ozone. 

"Fine!"  exclaimed  Flint,  with  unwonted  enthusiasm, 
and  nearly  yielded  to  a  laugh.  Waldron  went  so  far  as 
to  slap  Herzog  on  the  shoulder. 

"You're  some  wizard,  old  man!"  he  exclaimed,  with  a 
warmth  hitherto  never  known  by  him — for  already  the 
subtle  gas  was  beginning  to  intoxicate  his  senses.  "And 
you  can  handle  nitrogen  with  the  same  ease  and  pre 
cision?" 

"Exactly,"  answered  Herzog.  "This  other  vial  con 
tains  pure  nitrogen.  With  enlarged  apparatus,  I  can 
supply  it  by  the  trainload.  The  world's  fertilizer  prob 
lem  is  solved!" 

"Great  work!"  ejaculated  Waldron,  even  more  excited 
than  before,  but  Flint,  his  natural  sourness  asserting  it 
self,  merely  growled  some  ungracious  remark. 

"Nitrogen  can  go  hang,"  said  he.  "It's  oxygen  we're 
after,  primarily.  Once  we  get  our  grip  on  that,  the  world 
will  be " 

Waldron  checked  him  just  in  time. 

"Enough  of  this,"  he  interrupted  sharply.  *'T  admit, 
I'm  not  myself,  in  this  rich  atmosphere.  I  know  you're 


64  THE    AIR    TRUST 

feeling  it,  already,  Flint.  Come  along  out  of  this,  where 
we  can  regain  our  aplomb.  We've  seen  enough,  for 
once." 

He  turned  to  Herzog. 

"For  God's  sake,  man,"  cried  he,  "cork  that  magic 
bottle  of  yours,  before  all  the  oxygen-genii  escape,  or 
you'll  have  us  both  under  the  table!  And,  see  here,"  he 
added,  pulling  out  his  check-book,  while  Flint  stared  in 
amazed  disgust.  "Here,  take  a  blank  check."  He  took 
his  fountain  pen  and  scrawled  his  name  on  one.  "The 
amount?  That's  up  to  you.  Now,  let  us  out,"  he  bade, 
as  Herzog  stood  there  regarding  the  check  with  entire 
uncomprehension.  "Out,  I  say,  before  I  get  extrava 
gant!" 

Herzog,  perfectly  comprehending  the  magnates'  un 
usual  conduct  as  due  to  oxygen-intoxication  in  its  initial 
stage,  made  no  comment,  but  walked  to  the  door,  spun 
the  combination  and  flung  it  open. 

"Glad  to  have  had  the  pleasure  of  demonstrating  the 
process  to  you,  gentlemen,"  said  he.  "If  you're  convinced 
it's  practicable,  I'm  at  your  orders  for  any  larger  exten 
sion  of  the  work.  Have  you  any  other  question  or  sug 
gestion  ?" 

Neither  magnate  answered.  Flint  was  trying  hard  to 
hold  his  self-control.  Waldron,  red- faced  now  and  highly 
stimulated,  looked  as  though  he  had  been  drinking  even 
more  than  usual. 

Both  passed  out  of  the  laboratory  with  rather  unsteady 
steps.  Together  they  retraced  their  way  to  the  adminis 
tration  building ;  and  there,  safe  at  last  in  the  private  inner 
office,  with  the  door  locked,  they  sat  down  and  stared  at 
each  other  with  expressions  of  amazement. 


CHAPTER  VII. 
A  FREAK  OF  FATE. 

N  was  the  first  to  speak.  With  a  sudden 
laugh,  boisterous  and  wild,  he  cried : 

"Flint,  you  old  scoundrel,  you're  drunk!" 

"Drunk  yourself!"  retorted  the  Billionaire,  half  start 
ing  from  his  chair,  his  fist  clenched  in  sudden  passion. 
"How  dare  you ?" 

"Dare?  I  dare  anything!"  exclaimed  Waldron.  "Yes, 
I  admit  it — I  am  half  seas  over.  That  ozone — God! 
what  a  stimulant!  Must  be  some  wonderfully  powerful 
form.  If  we — could  market  it " 

Flint  sank  back  in  his  chair,  waving  an  extravagant 
hand. 

"Market  it?"  he  answered.  Of  course  we  can  mar 
ket  it,  and  will !  Drunk  or  sober,  Wally,  I  know  what 
I'm  talking  about.  The  power  now  in  our  grasp  has 
never  yet  been  equalled  on  earth.  On  the  one  side,  we 
can  half-stifle  every  non-subscriber  to  our  service,  or 
wholly  stifle  every  rebel  against  us.  On  the  other,  we  can 
simply  saturate  every  subscriber  with  health  and  energy, 
or  even — if  they  want  it — waft  them  to  paradise  on  the 
wings  of  ozone.  The  old  Roman  idea  of  'bread  and 
circus'  to  rule  the  mob,  was  child's  play  compared  to  this ! 
Science  has  delivered  the  whole  world  into  our  hands. 
Power,  man,  power!  Absolute,  infinite  power  over  every 
living,  breathing  thing!" 


66  THE    AIR    TRUST 

lie  fell  silent,  pondering  the  vast  future ;  and  Waldron, 
gazing  at  him  with  sparkling  eyes,  nodded  with  keen  sat 
isfaction.  Thus  for  a  few  moments  they  sat,  looking  at 
each  other  and  letting  imagination  run  riot;  and  as  they 
sat,  the  sudden,  stimulating  effect  of  the  condensed  oxygen 
died  in  their  blood,  and  calmer  feelings  ensued. 

Presently  Waldron  spoke  again. 

"Let's  get  down  to  brass  tacks/'  said  he,  drawing  his 
chair  up  to  the  table.  "I'm  almost  myself  again.  The 
subtle  stuff  has  got  out  of  my  brain,  at  last.  Generalities 
and  day-dreams  are  all  very  well,  Flint,  but  we've  got 
to  lay  out  some  definite  line  of  campaign.  And  the  sooner 
we  get  to  it  the  better." 

"Hm !"  sneered  Flint.  "If  it's  not  more  practical  than 
your  action  in  giving  Herzog  that  blank  check,  it  won't 
be  worth  much.  As  an  extravagant  action,  Wally,  I've 
never  seen  it  equalled.  I'm  astonished,  indeed  I  am !" 

Waldron  laughed  easily. 

"Don't  worry,"  he  answered  his  partner.  "That  tem 
porary  aberration  of  judgment,  due  to  oxygen-stimulus, 
will  have  no  results.  Herzog  won't  dare  fill  out  the  check, 
anyhow,  because  he  knows  he'd  get  into  trouble  if  he  did ; 
and  even  though  he  should,  he  can  collect  nothing.  I'll 
have  payment  stopped,  at  once,  on  that  number.  No  dan 
ger,  Flint!" 

"I  don't  know,"  mused  the  Billionaire.  "It  may  be  that 
this  man  has  us  just  a  little  under  his  thumb.  He,  and 
he  alone,  understands  the  process.  We've  got  to  treat 
him  with  due  consideration,  or  he  may  leave  us  and  carry 
his  secret  to  others — to  Masterson,  for  instance,  or  the 
Amalgamated  people,  or " 

"Nothing    doing    on    that,    old    man!"    interrupted 


A     FREAK    OF     FATE  67 

"Tiger."  "Have  no  fear.  The  first  move  he  makes,  off 
to  Sing  Sing  he  goes,  the  way  we  jobbed  Parker  Hayes. 
Slade  and  the  Cosmos  Agency  can  take  care  of  him,  all 
right,  if  he  asserts  himself!" 

"Very  likely,"  answered  Flint,  who  had  now  at  last 
entirely  recovered  his  sang-froid.  "But  in  that  event,  our 
work  would  be  at  a  standstill.  No,  Flint,  \ve  mustn't 
oppose  this  fellow.  Better  let  the  check  go  through,  if  he 
has  nerve  enough  to  fill  it  out  and  cash  it.  He  won't 
dare  gouge  very  deep;  and  no  matter  what  he  takes,  it 
won't  be  a  drop  in  the  ocean,  compared  to  the  golden 
flood  now  almost  within  our  grasp!" 

Waldron  pondered  a  moment,  then  nodded  assent. 

"All  right.  Correct,"  he  finally  answered.  "So  then, 
we  can  dismiss  that  trifle  from  our  minds.  Now,  to 
work!  We've  got  the  process  we  were  after.  What 
next?" 

"First  of  all,"  answered  the  Billionaire,  "we'll  let  this 
Herzog  understand  that  he's  to  have  a  share  in  the  re 
sults;  that  in  this,  as  in  everything  so  far,  he's  merely  a 
tool — and  that  when  tools  lose  their  cutting  edge  we 
break  'em.  He's  a  meek  devil.  We  can  hold  him  easily 
enough." 

"Right.    And  then?"  asked  Waldron. 

"Then?  First  of  all,  a  good,  big,  wide-sweeping  pub 
licity  campaign.  That  must  begin  to-day,  to  prepare  opin 
ion  for  the  forthcoming  development  of  the  new  idea." 

"Henderson  can  handle  that,  all  right,"  said  Wally, 
leaning  forward  in  his  chair.  "Give  him  the  idea,  and 
turn  him  loose,  and  he'll  get  results.  A  clever  dog,  that. 
He  and  his  press  bureau,  working  through  all  the  big 
dailies  and  many  of  the  magazines,  can  turn  this  country 


68  THE    AIR    TRUST 

upside  down  in  six  months.  Let  him  get  on  this  job, 
and  before  you  know  it  the  public  will  be  demanding,  be 
fighting  for  a  chance  to  subscribe  to  the  new  ventilating- 
service.  That  part  of  it  is  easy!" 

"Yes,  you're  right,"  replied  Flint.  "We'll  see  Hender 
son  no  later  than  this  afternoon.  He  and  his  writers  can 
lay  out  a  series  of  popular  articles  and  advertisements,  to 
be  run  as  pure  reading  matter,  with  no  distinguishing 
mark  that  they  are  ads,  which  will  get  the  country — the 
whole  world,  in  fact — coming  our  way." 

"Good,"  the  other  assented.  "Meantime,  we  can  be 
gin  installing  oxygen  machines  on  a  big  scale,  a  huge 
scale,  to  supply  the  demand  that's  bound  to  arise.  Where 
do  you  think  we'd  best  manufacture  ?  Herzog  says  water 
power  is  the  correct  thing.  We  might  use  Niagara — use 
some  of  the  surplus  power  we  already  own  there." 

"Niagara  would  do,  very  well,"  answered  Flint.  He 
had  once  more  taken  out  his  little  morocco-covered  note 
book,  and  was  now  jotting  down  some  further  memo 
randa.  "It's  a  good  location.  Pipe-lines  could  easily  be 
extended,  from  it,  to  cover  practically  a  quarter  to  a  third 
of  the  United  States.  Eventually  we'll  put  in  another 
plant  in  Chicago,  one  in  Denver  and  one  on  the  Pacific 
Coast.  Then,  in  time,  there  must  be  distributing  centers 
in  Europe,  Africa,  Asia  and  Australia.  But  for  the  pres 
ent,  we'll  begin  with  the  Niagara  plant.  After  we  get 
that  under  full  operation,  the  others  will  develop  in  due 
course  of  time." 

"Ouir  charter  covers  this  new  line  of  work.  There  will 
be  no  need  of  any  legal  technicalities,"  said  Waldron,  with 
a  smile.  "Some  charter,  if  I  do  say  it,  who  shouldn't. 


A     FREAK    OF    FATE  69 

I  drew  it,  you  remember.  Nothing  much  in  the  way  of 
possible  business-extension  got  past  me!" 

Flint  nodded. 

"You're  right,"  he  answered.  "Nothing  stands  in  our 
way,  now.  Positively  nothing.  We  have  land,  power 
and  capital  without  limit.  We  have  the  process.  We 
control  press,  law,  courts,  judges,  military  and  every  other 
form  of  government.  All  we  need  look  out  for  is  to 
secure  public  confidence  and  keep  the  bandage  on  the  eyes 
of  the  world  till  our  system  is  actually  in  operation — 
then  there  will  be  no  redress,  no  come  back,  no  possible 
rebellion.  As  I've  already  said,  Wally,  we'll  have  the 
whole  world  by  the  windpipe;  and  let  the  mob  howl  then, 
if  they  dare!" 

"Yes,  let  'em  howl!"  chimed  in  "Tiger,"  with  a  snarl 
that  proved  his  nickname  no  misnomer.  "Inside  of  a 
year  w^e'll  have  them  all  where  we  want  them.  You  were 
right,  Flint,  when  you  called  oil,  coal,  iron  and  all  the 
rest  of  it  mere  petty  activities.  Air — ah !  that's  the  talk ! 
Once  we  get  the  air  under  our  control,  we're  emperors  of 
all  life!" 

His  words  rang  frank  and  bold,  but  something  in  his 
look,  as  he  blinked  at  his  partner,  might  have  given  Flint 
cause  for  uneasiness,  had  the  Billionaire  noticed  that  ob 
lique  and  dangerous  glance.  One  might  have  read  there 
in  some  shifty  and  devious  plan  of  Waldron's  to  dominate 
even  Flint  himself,  to  rule  the  master  or  to  wreck  him, 
and  to  seize  in  his  own  hands  the  reins  of  universal  po\v- 
er.  But  Flint,  bending  over  his  note-book  and  making 
careful  memoranda,  saw  nothing  of  all  this. 

Waldron,  an  inveterate  smoker,  lighted  a  fresh  cig-ar. 
leaned  back,  surveyed  his  partner  and  indulged  in  a  short 


70  THE    AIR    TRUST 

inner  laugh,  which  hardly  curved  his  cruel  lips,  but  which 
hardened  still  more  those  pale-blue,  steely  eyes  of  his. 

"All  right/'  said  he,  at  last.  "Enough  of  this,  Flint. 
Let's  get  back  to  town,  now,  and  have  a  conference  with 
Henderson.  That's  the  first  step.  By  tonight,  the  whole 
campaign  of  publicity  must  be  mapped  out.  Come,  come; 
you  can  finish  your  memoranda  later.  I'm  impatient  to 
be  back  in  Wall  Street.  Come  along!" 

Five  minutes  later,  having  left  orders  that  Herzog  was 
to  attend  upon  them  in  their  private  offices,  next  morn 
ing,  they  had  ordered  the  limousine  and  were  making  way 
along  the  hard  road  toward  the  gate  of  the  enclosure. 

The  gate  opened  to  let  them  pass,  then  swung  and 
locked  again,  behind  them.  At  a  good  clip,  the  powerful 
car  picked  up  speed  on  the  homeward  way.  The  two  mag 
nates,  exultant  and  flushed  with  the  consciousness  of 
coming  victory,  lolled  in  the  deeply-cushioned  seat  and 
spoke  of  power. 

As  they  swung  past  the  aviation  field  and  neared  the 
Oakwood  Heights  station,  a  train  pulled  out.  Down  the 
road  came  tramping  a  workingman  in  overalls  and  jump 
er,  with  a  canvas  bag  of  tools  swinging  from  his  brawny 
right  hand.  As  he  walked,  striding  along  with  splendid 
energy,  he  whistled  to  himself — no  cheap  ragtime  air,  but 
Handel's  Largo,  with  an  appreciation  which  bespoke 
musical  feeling  of  no  common  sort. 

The  Billionaire  caught  sight  of  him,  just  as  the  car 
slowed  to  take  the  sharp  turn  by  the  station.  Instant 
recognition  followed.  Flint's  eyes  narrowed  sharply. 

"Hm !  The  same  fellow,"  he  grunted  to  himself.  "The 
same  rascal  who  stood  beside  us  on  the  ferry  boat,  as  we 
were  talking  over  our  plans.  Now,  what  the  devil?" 


A     FREAK    OF     FATE  71 

Shadowed  by  a  kind  of  instinctive  uneasiness,  not  yet 
definite  or  clear  but  more  in  the  nature  of  a  premonition 
of  trouble,  Flint  gazed  fixedly  at  the  mechanic  as  the 
car  swung  round  the  bend  in  the  road.  The  glance  was 
returned. 

Yielding  to  some  kind  of  imperative  curiosity,  the  Bil 
lionaire  leaned  over  the  side  of  the  car — leaned  out,  with 
his  coat  flapping  in  the  stiff  wind — and  for  a  moment 
peered  back  at  the  disquieting  workman. 

Then  the  car  swept  him  out  of  sight,  and  Flint  resumed 
his  seat  again. 

He  did  not  know — for  he  had  not  seen  it  happen — that 
in  that  moment  the  slippery,  leather-covered  note-book 
had  slid  from  his  lolling  coat  pocket  and  had  fallen  with 
a  sharp  slap  on  the  white  macadam,  skidded  along  and 
come  to  rest  in  the  ditch. 

The  workingman,  however,  who  had  paused  and  turned 
to  look  after  the  speeding  car,  he  had  seen  all  this. 

A  moment  he  stood  there,  peering.  Then,  retracing 
his  steps  with  resolution  he  picked  up  the  little  book  and 
slid  it  into  the  pocket  of  his  jeans. 

Deserted  was  the  road.  Not  a  soul  was  to  be  seen,  save 
the  crossing  flagman,  musing  in  his  chair  beside  his  little 
hut,  quite  oblivious  to  everything  but  a  rank  cob  pipe. 
The  workman's  act  had  not  been  noticed. 

Nobody  had  observed  him.  Nobody  knew.  Not  a 
living  creature  had  witnessed  the  slight  deed  on  which, 
by  a  strange  freak  of  fate,  the  history  of  the  world  was 
vet  to  turn. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
ONE  UNBIDDEN,  SHARES  GREAT  SECRETS. 

IMMEDIATELY  on  discovering  his  loss — which 
was  soon  after  having  reached  his  office — Flint,  in 
something  like  a  fright,  telephoned  down  to  the  Oakwood 
Heights  laboratory  and  instructed  Herzog,  in  person,  to 
make  a  careful  search  for  it  and  to  report  results  inside 
an  hour.  Even  though  some  of  the  essentials  of  his  plan 
were  written  in  a  code  of  his  own  devising,  Flint  paled 
before  the  possible  results  should  the  book  fall  into  the 
hands  of  anybody  intelligent  enough  to  fathom  its  mean 
ing. 

"Damn  the  luck !"  he  ejaculated,  pacing  the  office  floor, 
his  fists  knotted.  "If  it  had  been  a  pocket  book  with  a 
few  thousand  inside,  that  would  have  been  a  trifle.  But 
to  lose  my  plan  of  campaign — God  grant  no  harm  may 
come  of  it!" 

Waldron,  slyly  observing  him,  could  not  suppress  a 
smile. 

"Calling  on  God,  eh  ?"  sneered  he.  "You  must  be  agi 
tated.  I  haven't  heard  that  kind  of  entreaty  on  your  lips, 
Flint,  since  the  year  of  the  big  coal  strike,  when  yoa 
prayed  God  the  gun-men  might  'get'  the  strikers  before 
they  could  organize.  Come,  come,  man,  brace  up!  Your 
book  will  turn  up  all  right;  and  even  if  it  doesn't  there's 
no  cause  for  alarm.  It  would  take  a  man  of  extraordinary 


SHARES    GREAT    SECRETS  73 

acumen  to  read  your  hieroglyphics !  Cheer  up,  Flint. 
There's  really  nothing  to  excite  you." 

The  Billionaire  thus  adjured,  sat  down  and  tried  to 
calm  his  agitation. 

"Rotten  luck,  eh?"  he  queried.  "But  after  all,  Herzog 
is  likely  to  find  the  book.  And  even  if  he  doesn't,  I  guess 
we're  safe  enough.  The  very  boldness  of  the  plan — 
supposing  even  that  the  finder  could  grasp  it — would  put 
it  outside  the  seeming  range  of  the  possible.  It's  hardly 
a  hundred  to  one  shot  any  harm  may  come  of  it." 

"All  right,  then,  let  it  go  at  that,"  said  Waldron. 
"And  now,  to  business.  Suppose,  for  example,  you've 
got  a  perfectly  unlimited  supply  of  oxygen-gas  and  liquid. 
How  are  you  going  to  market  it  ?  Just  what  details  have 
you  worked  out?" 

Flint  pondered  a  moment,  before  replying.  At  last 
he  said: 

"Of  course  you  understand,  Wally,  I  can't  give  you 
every  point.  The  whole  thing  will  be  an  evolution,  and 
new  ideas  and  processes,  new  uses  and  demands  will  de 
velop  as  time  passes.  But  in  the  main,  my  idea  is  this: 
The  big  producing  stations  will  steadily  extract  oxygen 
from  the  atmosphere,  thus  leaving  the  air  increasingly 
poorer  and  less  adapted  to  sustaining  human  life. 

"I  shall  store  the  oxygen  in  vast  tanks,  like  the  ordinary 
gas-tanks  to  be  found  in  every  city,  only  much  bigger. 
These  tanks  will  be  fed  by  pipe-lines  from  the  central  sta 
tions,  thus." 

Flint  drew  toward  him  a  sheet  of  his  heavily  embossed 
letter-paper,  and,  picking  up  a  pencil,  began  to  sketch  a 
rough  diagram.  Waldron,  making  no  comment,  followed 
every  stroke  with  keen  interest. 


74  THE    AIR    TRUST 

"From  these  tanks,"  the  Billionaire  continued,  "smaller 
pipes  will  convey  the  gaseous  oxygen  to  every  house  tak 
ing  our  service." 

"Just  like  ordinary  gas?" 

"Precisely.  Each  room  will  be  fitted  with  an  oxygen 
jet  apparatus,  something  like  a  gas  burner,  with  a  safety 
device  to  prevent  over  supply  and  avoid  the  dangers  of 
combustion." 

"Combustion?" 

"Yes.  In  pure  oxygen,  a  glowing  bit  of  wire  will  burst 
into  flame.  Your  cigar,  there,  would  catch  fire,  from  the 
merest  spark  in  its  inmost  folds.  Too  much  oxygen  in 
a  room  not  only  intoxicates  the  occupants — we've  already 
seen  that  effect — but  also  develops  a  great  fire  risk.  So 
we  shall  have  to  make  some  provision  for  that,  Wally. 
It  will  be  absolutely  essential." 

"All  right.  Allowing  it's  been  made,  what  then?" 
asked  "Tiger,"  with  extraordinary  interest. 

"Can't  you  see?  We'll  have  every  household  under  our 
absolute  thumb?"  And  Flint  pressed  his  thumb  on  the 
table  to  illustrate.  "My  God,  man,  think  of  it!  Every 
city  honeycombed  by  our  pipes — yes,  and  every  village 
and  hamlet  too,  and  even  every  farm  house  that  can  af 
ford  it!  At  first,  the  cost  will  be  very  low,  till  people 
have  become  accustomed  to  ozone  as  they  are  to  water. 
The  whole  ventilation  problem  will  be  solved,  at  once  and 
for  all  time.  Where  we  can't  pipe  in  the  ozone,  we  can 
use  portable  vaporizers,  to  be  supplied  once  a  month,  and 
of  sufficient  capacity  to  keep  the  air  of  an  average-sized 
house  perfectly  pure  for  thirty  days. 

"Pure?  More  than  pure!  Exhilarating,  life-giving, 
delicious!  Under  this  system,  Wally,  the  middle  and  up- 


SHARES    GREAT    SECRETS  75 

per  classes  will  thrive  as  never  before.  They'll  grow  in 
size  and  weight,  in  health  and  intelligence,  under  the 
steady  influence  of  ozone,  day  and  night.  Every  vital 
process  will  be  stimulated.  Our  invention  will  mark  a 
new  era  in  the  welfare  of  the  world !" 

"Bunk!"  sneered  Wally.  "That's  all  very  well  for 
your  prospectuses  and  newspaper  articles,  old  man,  but 
the  fact  is  we  don't  give  a  damn  whether  it  helps  the 
world  or  wrecks  it.  We're  out  for  money  and  power. 
My  motto  is,  Get  'em  and  do  good,  if  you  can — but  get 
'em  anyhow!  So  you  had  better  can  the  philanthropic 
part  of  it.  Just  show  me  the  cash,  and  you  can  have  all 
the  credit!" 

Flint  shot  a  grim  look  at  his  partner,  then  continued : 

"Don't  be  flippant,  Wally.  This  is  a  serious  business 
and  must  be  treated  as  such.  In  addition  to  the  respira 
tory  service,  we  can  put  in  water-cooling  and  refrigerat 
ing  services,  at  low  cost,  also  cold-pipes  for  cooling  houses 
in  summer.  In  fine,  we  can  immeasurably  add  to  the 
health  and  comfort  of  the  better  classes;  and  can  at  last 
have  everybody  using  our  gas,  which,  registering  through 
our  own  sealed  meters,  will  flood  us  with  wealth  so  vast 
as  to  make  that  of  these  Standard  Oil  pifflers  look  like 
the  proverbial  thirty  cents!" 

"Fine!"  exclaimed  Waldron,  nodding  approval.  "Also, 
any  time  any  rebellion  develops  we  can  merely  shut  off 
the  supply  in  that  quarter,  and  quickly  reduce  it.  Or, 
again,  we  can  increase  the  potency  of  the  gas,  and  fairly 
intoxicate  the  people,  till  they  stand  for  anything.  Just 
fancy,  now,  our  pipes  connected  with  the  sacred  Halls 
of  Congress  and  with  the  White  House!  Even  if  any 


76  THE    AIR    TRUST 

difficulty  could  possibly  be  expected  from  these  sources, 
just  imagine  how  quickly  we  could  nip  it  in  the  bud!" 

"Quickly  isn't  the  word,  Wally,"  answered  the  Bil 
lionaire.  "I  tell  you,  old  man,  the  world  lies  in  our 
hands,  to-day.  And  we  have  only  to  close  our  fingers,  in 
order  to  possess  it!" 

He  glanced  at  his  own  fingers,  as  though  he  visibly 
perceived  the  great  world  lying  there  for  him  to  squeeze. 
Waldron' s  eyes,  following  the  Billionaire's,  saw  that 
Flint's  hand  was  trembling,  and  understood  the  reason. 
More  than  three  hours  had  passed — nay,  almost  four — 
since  Flint  had  had  any  opportunity  to  take  his  neces 
sary  dose  of  morphia.  Waldron  arose,  paced  to  the  win 
dow  and  stood  there  looking  out  over  the  vast  panorama 
of  city,  river  and  harbor,  apparently  absorbed  in  con 
templation,  but  really  keen  to  hear  what  Flint  might  do. 

His  expectations  were  not  disappointed.  Hardly  had 
he  turned  his  back,  when  he  heard  the  desk-drawer  open, 
furtively,  and  knew  the  Billionaire  was  taking  out  the 
little  vial  of  white  tablets,  dearer  to  him  than  ever  the 
caress  of  woman  to  a  Don  Juan.  A  moment  later,  the 
drawer  closed  again. 

"He'll  do  now,  for  a  while,"  thought  Waldron,  with 
satisfaction.  "Let  him  go  the  limit,  if  he  likes — the 
fool!  The  more  he  takes,  the  quicker  I  win.  It'll  kill 
him  yet,  the  dope  will.  And  that  means,  my  mastery  of 
the  \vorld  will  be  complete.  Let  him  go  it !  The  harder, 
the  better!" 

He  turned  back  toward  Flint,  again,  veiling  in  that  im 
penetrable  face  of  his  the  slightest  hint  or  expression 
which  might  have  told  Flint  that  he  understood  the  Bil 
lionaire's  vice.  If  Flint  were  Vulture,  Waldron  was 


SHARES    GREAT    SECRETS  77 

Tiger,  indeed.  And  so,  for  a  brief  moment,  these  two 
soulless  men  of  gold  and  power  stood  eyeing  each  other, 
in  silence. 

Suddenly  Waldron  spoke. 

'There's  one  thing  you've  forgotten  to  speak  of, 
Flint,"  he  said. 

"And  that  is?"  demanded  the  other,  already  calmed  by 
the  quick  action  of  the  subtle,  enslaving  drug. 

"The  effect  on  the  world's  poor — on  the  toiling1  mil 
lions  !  The  results  of  this  innovation,  in  slum,  and  slave- 
quarter,  and  in  the  haunts  of  poverty.  Your  talk  has  all 
been  of  the  middle  and  upper  classes,  and  of  the  benefits 
accruing  to  them,  from  increased  oxygen-consumption. 
But  how  about  the  others?  Every  ounce  of  oxygen  you 
take  out  of  the  air,  leaves  it  just  so  much  poorer.  Store 
thousands  of  tons  of  the  life-giving  gas,  in  monster  tanks, 
and  you  vitiate  the  entire  atmosphere.  How  about  that? 
How  can  even  the  well-to-do  breathe,  then,  out-doors,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  poverty-stricken  millions?" 

Flint  grimaced,  showing  a  glint  of  his  gold  tooth — his 
substitute  for  a  smile. 

"That's  all  reckoned  for,"  he  answered.  "I  thought 
I  made  it  quite  clear,  in  our  previous  talk.  To  begin 
with,  we  will  withdraw  the  oxygen  from  the  atmosphere 
so  slowly  that  at  first  there  won't  be  any  noticeable  effect 
on  the  out-door  air.  For  a  while,  the  only  thing  that  will 
be  noticed  by  the  world  will  be  that  our  gas  service,  to 
private  residences  and  institutions,  \vill  result  in  greatly 
increased  comfort  and  health  to  the  better  classes.  And 
the  cost  will  be  so  low — at  first,  mind  you,  cnly  at  first 
— that  every  family  of  any  means  at  all  can  take  it.  '  In 
fact,  Wally,  we  can  afford  practically  to  give  away  the 


78  THE    AIR     TRUST 

service,  for  the  first  year,  until  we  get  our  grip  firmly 
fixed  on  the  throat  of  the  world.  Do  you  get  the  idea?" 

Waldron  nodded,  as  he  drew  leisurely  on  his  cigar. 

"Practical  to  a  degree,"  he  answered.  "That  is,  until 
the  poor  begin  to  gasp  for  breath.  But  what  then  ?" 

"By  the  time  the  outer  atmosphere  really  begins  to 
show  the  effect  of  withdrawing  a  considerable  percentage 
of  the  oxygen,"  Flint  answered,  "we  will  have  our  pocket 
respirators  on  the  market.  Well-to-do  people  will  as  soon 
think  of  going  out  without  their  shoes,  as  they  will  with 
out  their  respirators.  No,  there  won't  be  any  visible 
tubes  or  attachments,  Wally.  Nothing  of  that  kind.  Only, 
each  person  will  carry  a  properly  insulated  cake  of  solidi 
fied  oxygen  that  will  evaporate  through  the  special  ap 
paratus  and  surround  him  with  a  normally  rich  atmo 
sphere.  And " 

"Yes,  but  the  poor?    The  workers?    What  of  them?" 

"Devil  take  them,  if  it  comes  to  that!"  retorted  Flint, 
with  some  heat.  "Who  ever  gives  them  any  serious  at 
tention,  as  it  is  ?  Who  bothers  about  their  health  ?  They 
eat  and  drink  and  breathe  the  leavings,  anyhow — eat  the 
cheapest  and  most  adulterated  food,  drink  the  vilest  slop 
and  breathe  the  most  vitiated  slum  air.  Nobody  cares, 
except  perhaps  those  crazy  Socialists  that  once  in  a 
wrhile  get  up  on  the  street-corner  and  howl  about  the 
rights  of  man  and  all  that  rubbish!  Working-class? 
What  do  /  care  about  the  cattle?  Let  them  die,  if  they 
want  to!  D'you  suppose,  for  one  minute,  I'm  going  to 
limit  or  delay  this  big  innovation,  because  there's  a 
working-class  that  may  suffer?" 

"They'll  do  more  than  suffer,  Flint,  if  you  seriously 
depreciate  the  atmosphere.  They'll  die!" 


SHARES    GREAT    SECRETS  79 

"Well,  let  them,  and  be  damned  to  them!"  retorted 
Flint,  already  showing  symptoms  of  drug-stimulation. 
Waldron,  smoking  meanwhile,  eyed  him  with  a  dangerous 
smile  lurking  in  his  cold  eyes.  "Let  them,  I  say!  They 
die  off,  now,  twice  or  thrice  as  fast  as  the  better  classes, 
but  what  difference  does  it  make?  Great  breeders,  those 
people  are.  The  more  they  die,  the  faster  they  multiply. 
Let  them  go  their  wTay  and  do  as  they  like,  so  long  as 
they  don't  interfere  with  its!  The  only  really  important 
factor  to  reckon  on  is  this,  that  with  an  impoverished 
air  to  breathe,  their  rebellious  spirit  will  die  out — the 
dogs! — and  we'll  have  no  more  talk  of  social  revolution. 
We'll  draw  their  teeth,  all  right  enough;  or  rather,  twist 
the  bowstring  round  their  damned  necks  so  tight  that 
all  their  energy,  outside  of  work,  will  be  consumed  in 
just  keeping  alive.  Revolution,  then?  Forget  it,  Wal 
dron  !  We'll  kill  that  viper  once  and  for  all !" 

"Good  idea,  Flint,"  the  other  replied,  with  approbation. 
"Only  a  master-mind  like  yours  could  have  conceived  it. 
I'm  with  you,  all  right  enough.  Only,  tell  me — do  you 
really  believe  we  can  put  this  whole  program  through, 
without  a  hitch?  Without  a  leak,  anywhere?  Without 
barricades  in  the  streets,  wild-eyed  agitators  howling, 
machine-guns  chattering,  and  Hell  to  pay?" 

Flint  smiled  grimly. 

"Wait  and  see !"  he  growled. 

"Maybe  you're  right,"  his  partner  answered.  "But 
slow  and  easy  is  the  only  way." 

"Slow  and  easy,"  Flint  assented.  "Of  course  we  can't 
go  too  fast.  In  1850,  for  example,  do  you  suppose  the 
public  would  have  tolerated  the  sudden  imposition  of 
monopolies?  Hardly!  But  now  they  lie  down  under 


80  THE    AIR    TRUST 

them,  and  even  vote  and  fight  to  keep  them!  So,  too, 
with  this  Air  Trust.  Time  will  show  you  I'm  right." 

Waldron  glanced  at  his  watch. 

"Long  past  lunch-time,  Flint,"  said  he.  "Enough  of 
this,  for  now.  And  this  afternoon,  I've  got  that  D.  K. 
&  E.  directors'  meeting  on  hand.  When  shall  we  go  on 
with  our  plans,  and  get  down  to  specific  details?" 

"This  evening,  say?" 

"Very  well.     At  my  house?" 

"No.  Too  noisy.  Run  out  to  Englewood,  to  mine. 
We'll  be  quiet  there.  And  come  early,  Waldron.  We've 
no  end  of  things  to  discuss.  The  quicker  we  get  the 
actual  work  under  way,  now,  the  better.  You  can  see 
Catherine,  too.  Isn't  that  an  inducement?" 

Thus  ended  the  conference.  It  resumed,  that  night,  in 
Flint's  luxurious  study  at  "Idle  Hour,"  his  superb  estate 
on  the  Palisades.  Waldron  paid  only  a  perfunctory  court 
to  Catherine,  who  manifested  her  pleasure  by  studied  in 
difference.  Both  magnates  felt  relieved  when  she  with 
drew.  They  had  other  and  larger  matters  under  way  than 
any  dealing  with  the  amenities  of  life. 

Until  past  midnight  the  session  in  the  study  lasted,  un 
der  the  soft  glow  of  the  Billionaire's  reading-light.  And 
many  choice  cigars  were  smoked,  many  sheets  of  paper 
covered  with  diagrams  and  calculations,  many  vast 
schemes  of  conquest  expanded,  ere  the  two  masters  said 
good-night  and  separated. 

At  the  very  hour  of  Waldron's  leave-taking,  another 
man  was  pondering  deeply,  studying  the  problem  from 
quite  another  angle,  and — no  less  earnestly,  than  the  two 
magnates — laying  careful  plans. 


SHARES    GREAT    SECRETS  81 

This  man,  sturdy,  well-built  and  keen,  smoked  an  old 
briar  as  he  worked.  A  flannel  shirt,  open  at  the  throat, 
showed  a  well-sinewed  neck  and  powerful  chest.  Under 
the  inverted  cone  of  a  shaded  incandescent  in  his  room, 
at  the  electricians'  quarters  of  the  Oakwood  Heights  en 
closure,  one  could  see  the  deep  lines  of  thought  and  care 
ful  study  crease  his  high  and  prominent  brow. 

From  time  to  time  he  gazed  out  through  the  open  win- 
dowr,  off  toward  the  whispering  lines  of  surf  on  the  east 
ern  shores  of  Staten  Island — the  surf  forever  talking, 
forever  striving  to  give  its  mystic  message  to  the  un 
heeding  ear  of  man.  And  as  he  gazed,  his  blue  eyes 
narrowed  with  the  intensity  of  his  thought.  Once,  as 
though  some  sudden  understanding  had  come  to  him,  he 
smote  the  pine  table  with  a  corded  fist,  and  swore  below 
his  breath. 

It  was  past  two  in  the  morning  when  he  finally  rose, 
stretched,  yawned  and  made  ready  for  sleep  on  his  hard 
iron  bunk. 

"Can  it  be?"  he  muttered,  as  he  undressed.  "Can  it 
be  possible,  or  am  I  dreaming?  No — this  is  no  dream! 
This  is  reality;  and  thank  God,  I  understand." 

Then,  before  he  extinguished  his  light,  he  took  from 
the  table  the  material  he  had  been  studying  over,  and  put 
it  beneath  his  pillow,  where  he  could  guard  it  safe  till 
morning. 

The  thing  he  thus  protected  \vas  none  other  than  a 
small  note-book,  filled  with  diagrams,  jottings  and  calcu 
lations,  and  bound  in  red  morocco  covers. 

That  night,  at  Englewood — in  the  Billionaire's  home 


82  THE    AIR    TRUST 

and  in  the  workman's  simple  room  at  Oakwood  Heights 
— history  was  being  made. 

The  outcome,  tragic  and  terrible,  who  could  have  fore 
seen? 


CHAPTER  IX. 
DISCHARGED. 

>  f'LMOST  all  the  following  morning,  working  at  his 

3 I  bench  in  the  electro-chemical  laboratories  of  the 

great  Oakwood  Heights  plant,  Gabriel  Armstrong  pon 
dered  deeply  on  the  problems  and  responsibilities  now 
opening  out  before  him. 

The  finding  of  that  little  red-leather  note-book,  he  fully 
understood,  had  at  one  stroke  put  him  in  possession  of 
facts  more  vital  to  the  labor-movement  and  the  world  at 
large  than  any  which  had  ever  developed  since  the  very 
beginning  of  Capitalism.  A  Socialist  to  the  backbone, 
thoroughly  class-conscious  and  dowered  with  an  incisive 
intellect,  Gabriel  thrilled  at  thought  that  he,  by  chance, 
had  been  chosen  as  the  instrument  through  which  he  felt 
the  final  revolution  now  must  work.  And  though  he  re 
mained  outwardly  calm,  as  he  bent  above  his  toil,  in 
wardly  he  was  aflame.  His  heart  throbbed  with  an  ex 
citement  he  could  scarce  control.  His  brain  seemed  on 
fire;  his  soul  pulsed  with  savage  joy  and  magnificent  in 
spiration.  For  he  was  only  four-and-twenty,  and  the 
bitter  grind  of  years  and  toil  had  not  yet  worn  his  spirit 
down  nor  quelled  the  ardor  of  his  splendid  strength  and 
optimism. 

Working  at  his  routine  labor,  his  mind  was  not  upon 
it.  No,  rather  it  dwelt  upon  the  vast  discovery  he  had 
made — or  seemed  to  have  made — the  night  before.  Clear- 


84  THEAIRTRUST 

ly  limned  before  his  vision,  he  still  saw  the  notes,  the 
plans,  the  calculd  lions  he  had  been  able  to  decipher  in  the 
Billionaire's  lost  note-book — the  note-book  which  now, 
deep  in  the  pocket  of  his  jumper  that  hung  behind  him  on 
a  hook  against  the  wall,  drew  his  every  thought,  as  steel 
draws  the  compass-needle. 

"Incredible,  yet  true!"  he  pondered,  as  he  filed  a  brass 
casting  for  a  new-type  dynamo.  'These  men  are  plot 
ting  to  strangle  the  world  to  death — to  strangle,  if  they 
cannot  own  and  rule  it !  And,  what's  more,  I  see  nothing 
to  prevent  their  doing  it.  The  plan  is  sound.  They  have 
the  means.  At  this  very  moment,  the  whole  human  race 
is  standing  in  the  shadow  of  a  peril  so  great,  a  slavery 
so  imminent,  that  the  most  savage  war  of  conquest  ever 
waged  would  be  a  mere  skirmish,  by  comparison!" 

Mechanically  he  labored  on  and  on,  turning  the  tre 
mendous  problem  in  his  brain,  striving  in  vain  for  some 
solution,  some  grasp  at  effective  opposition.  And,  as  he 
thought,  a  kind  of  dumb  hopelessness  settled  down  about 
him,  tangible  almost  as  a  curtain  black  and  heavy. 

"What  shall  I  do?"  he  muttered  to  himself.  "What 
can  I  do,  to  strike  these  devils  from  their  villainous  plan 
of  mastery?" 

As  yet,  he  saw  nothing  clearly.  No  way  seemed  open 
to  him.  Alone,  he  knew  he  could  do  nothing ;  yet  whither 
should  he  turn  for  help?  To  rival  capitalist  groups? 
They  would  not  even  listen  to  him;  or,  if  they  listened 
and  believed,  they  would  only  combine  with  the  plot 
ters,  or  else,  on  their  own  hook,  try  to  emulate  them. 
To  the  labor  movement  ?  It  would  mock  him  as  a  chimer 
ical  dreamer,  despite  all  his  proofs.  At  best,  he  might 
start  a  few  ineffectual  strikes,  petty  and  futile,  indeed, 


DISCHARGED  85 

against  this  vast,  on-moving  power.  To  the  Socialists? 
They,  through  their  press  and  speakers — in  case  they 
should  believe  him  and  co-operate  with  him — could,  in 
deed,  give  the  matter  vast  publicity  and  excite  popular 
opposition;  but,  after  all,  could  they  abort  the  plan?  He 
feared  they  could  not.  The  time,  he  knew,  was  not  yet 
ripe  when  Labor,  on  the  political  field,  could  meet  and 
overthrow  forces  such  as  these. 

And  so,  for  all  his  fevered  thinking,  he  got  no  radical, 
no  practical  solution  of  the  terrible  problem.  More  and 
more  definitely,  as  he  weighed  the  pros  and  cons,  the 
belief  was  borne  in  upon  him  that  in  this  case  he  must 
appeal  to  nobody  but  himself,  count  on  nobody,  trust  in 
nobody  save  Gabriel  Armstrong. 

t:I  must  play  a  lone  hand  game,  for  a  while  at  least," 
he  concluded,  as  he  finished  his  casting  and  took  another. 
"Later,  perhaps,  I  can  enlist  my  comrades.  But  for  now, 
I  must  watch,  wait,  work,  all  alone.  Perhaps,  armed  with 
this  knowledge — invaluable  knowledge  shared  by  no  one 
— I  can  meet  their  moves,  checkmate  their  plans  and  de 
feat  their  ends.  Perhaps !  It  will  be  a  battle  between  one 
man,  obscure  and  without  means,  and  two  men  \vho  hold 
billions  of  dollars  and  unlimited  resources  in  their  grasp. 
A  battle  unequal  in  every  sense;  a  battle  to  the  death. 
But  I  may  win,  after  all.  Every  probability  is  that  I  shall 
lose,  lose  everything,  even  my  life.  Yet  still,  there  is  a 
chance.  By  God,  I'll  take  it!" 

The  last  words,  uttered  aloud,  seemed  to  spring  from 
his  lips  as  though  uttered  by  the  very  po\ver  of  invincible 
determination.  A  sneer,  behind  him,  brought  him  round 
with  a  start.  His  gaze  widened,  at  sight  of  Herzog  stand- 


86  THE    AIR    TRUST 

ing  there,  cold  and  dangerous  looking,  with  a  venomous 
expression  in  those  ill-mated  eyes  of  his. 

'Take  it,  will  you?"  jibed  the  scientist.    "You  thief!" 

Gabriel  sprang  up  so  suddenly  that  his  stool  clattered 
over  backward  on  the  red-tiled  floor.  His  big  fist 
clenched  and  lifted.  But  Herzog  never  flinched. 

'Thief!"  he  repeated,  with  an  ugly  thrust  of  the  jaw. 
Servile  and  crawling  to  his  masters,  the  man  was  ever 
arrogant  and  harsh  with  those  beneath  his  authority.  "I 
repeat  the  word.  Drop  that  fist,  Armstrong,  if  you  know 
what's  good  for  you.  I  warn  you.  Any  disturbance, 
here,  and — well,  you  know  what  we  can  do!" 

The  electrician  paled,  slightly.  But  it  was  not  through 
cowardice.  Rage,  passion  unspeakable,  a  sudden  and 
animal  hate  of  this  lick-spittle  and  supine  toady  shook 
him  to  the  heart's  core.  Yet  he  managed  to  control  him 
self,  not  through  any  personal  apprehension,  but  because 
of  the  great  work  he  knew  still  lay  before  him.  At  all 
hazards,  come  what  might,  he  must  stay  on,  there,  at  the 
Oakwood  Heights  plant.  Nothing,  now,  must  come  be 
tween  him  and  that  one  supreme  labor. 

Thus  he  controlled  himself,  with  an  effort  so  tremendous 
that  it  wrenched  his  very  soul.  This  trouble,  whatever  it 
might  be,  must  not  be  noised  about.  Already,  up  and 
down  the  shop,  workers  were  peering  curiously  at  him. 
He  must  be  calm;  must  pass  the  insult,  smooth  the  situa 
tion  and  remain  employed  there. 

"I — I  beg  pardon,"  he  managed  to  articulate,  with  pale 
lips  that  trembled.  He  wiped  the  beaded  sweat  from  his 
broad  forehead.  "Excuse  me,  Mr.  Herzog.  I — you 
startled  me.  What's  the  trouble?  Any  complaint  to 
make?  If  so,  I'm  here  to  listen." 


DISCHARGED  87 

Herzog's  teeth  showed  in  a  rat-like  grin  of  malice. 

"Yes,  you'll  listen,  all  right  enough,"  he  sneered.  "I've 
named  you,  and  that  goes!  You're  a  thief,  Armstrong, 
and  this  proves  it !  Look !" 

From  behind  his  back,  where  he  had  been  holding  it,  he 
produced  the  little  morocco-covered  book.  Right  in  Arm 
strong's  face  he  shook  it,  with  an  oath. 

"Steal,  will  you?"  he  jibed.  "For  it's  the  same  thing 
— no  difference  whether  you  picked  it  out  of  Mr.  Flint's 
pocket  or  found  it  on  the  floor  here,  and  tried  to  keep  it! 
Steal,  eh?  Hold  it  for  some  possible  reward?  You 
skunk!  Lucky  you  haven't  brains  enough  to  make  out 
what's  in  it!  Thought  you'd  keep  it,  did  you?  But  you 
weren't  smart  enough,  Armstrong — no,  not  quite  smart 
enough  for  me!  After  looking  the  whole  place  over,  I 
thought  I'd  have  a  go  at  a  few  pockets — and,  you  see? 
Oh,  you'll  have  to  get  up  early  to  beat  me  at  the  game 
you — you  thief!" 

With  the  last  word,  he  raised  the  book  and  struck 
the  young  man  a  blistering  welt  across  the  face  with  it. 

Armstrong  fell  back,  against  the  bench,  perfectly  livid, 
with  the  wale  of  the  blow  standing  out  red  and  distinct 
across  his  cheek.  Then  he  went  pale  as  death,  and  stag 
gered  as  though  about  to  faint. 

"God — God  in  heaven!"  he  gasped.  "Give  me — 
strength — not  to  kill  this  animal !" 

A  startled  look  came  into  Herzog's  face.  He  recog 
nized,  at  last,  the  nature  of  the  rage  he  had  awakened. 
In  those  twitching  fists  and  that  white,  writhen  face  he 
recognized  the  signs  of  passion  that  might,  on  a  second's 
notice,  leap  to  murder.  And,  shot  through  with  panic, 


88  THE    AIR    TRUST 

he  now  retreated,  like  the  coward  he  was,  though  with 
the  sneer  still  on  his  thin  and  cruel  lips. 

"Get  your  time!"  he  commanded,  with  crude  brutality. 
"Go,  get  it  at  once.  You're  lucky  to  get  off  so  easily.  If 
Flint  knew  this,  you'd  land  behind  bars.  But  we  want 
no  scenes  here.  Get  your  money  from  Sanderson,  and 
clear  out.  Your  job  ended  the  minute  my  hand  touched 
that  book  in  your  pocket!" 

Still  Armstrong  made  no  reply.  Still  he  remained 
there,  dazed  and  stricken,  pallid  as  milk,  a  wild  and  ter 
rible  light  in  his  blue  eyes. 

An  ugly  murmur  rose.  Two  or  three  of  his  fellow- 
workmen  had  come  drifting  down  the  shop,  toward  the 
scene  of  altercation.  Another  joined  them,  and  another. 
Not  one  of  them  but  hated  Herzog  with  a  bitter  animosity. 
And  now  perhaps,  the  time  was  come  to  pay  a  score  or 
two. 

But  Armstrong,  suddenly  lifting  his  head,  faced  them 
all,  his  comrades.  His  mind,  quick-acting,  had  realized 
that,  now  his  possession  of  the  book  had  been  discovered, 
his  chances  of  discovering  anything  more,  at  the  works, 
had  utterly  vanished.  Even  though  he  should  remain,  he 
could  do  nothing  there.  If  he  were  to  act,  it  must  be 
from  the  outside,  now,  following  the  trend  of  events, 
dogging  each  development,  striving  in  hidden,  devious 
ways — violent  ways,  perhaps — to  pull  down  this  horrible 
edifice  of  enslavement  ere  it  should  whelm  and  crush  the 
world. 

So,  acting  as  quickly  as  he  had  thought,  and  now  ignor 
ing  the  man  Herzog  as  though  he  had  never  existed,  Arm 
strong  faced  his  fellows. 

"It's  all  right,  boys,"  said  he,  quite  slowly,  his  voice 


DISCHARGED  89 

seeming  to  come  from  a  distance,  his  tones  forced  and 
unnatural.  "It's  all  right,  every  way.  I'm  caught  with 
the  goods.  Don't  any  of  you  butt  in.  Don't  mix  with 
my  trouble.  For  once  I'm  glad  this  is  a  scab  shop,  other 
wise  there  might  be  a  strike,  here,  and  worse  Hell  to 
pay  than  there  will  be  otherwise.  I'm  done.  I'll  get  my 
time,  and  quit.  But — remember  one  thing,  you'll  under 
stand  some  day  what  this  is  all  about. 

"I'm  glad  to  have  worked  with  you  fellows,  the  past 
few  months.  You're  all  right,  every  one  of  you.  Good 
bye,  and  remember " 

"Here,  you  men,  get  back  to  work !"  cried  Herzog,  sud 
denly.  "No  hand-shaking  here,  and  no  speech-making. 
This  man's  a  sneak-thief  and  he's  fired,  that's  all  there  is 
to  it.  Now,  get  onto  your  job!  The  first  man  that  puts 
up  a  complaint  about  it,  can  get  through,  too!" 

For  a  moment  they  glowered  at  him,  there  in  the  white- 
lighted  glare  of  the  big  shop.  A  fight,  even  then,  was 
perilously  near,  but  Armstrong  averted  it  by  turning 
away. 

"I'm  done,"  he  repeated.  He  gathered  up  a  few  tools 
that  belonged  to  him,  personally,  gave  one  look  at  his 
comrades,  waved  a  hand  at  them,  and  then,  followed  by 
Herzog,  strode  off  down  the  long  aisle,  toward  the  door. 

"Herzog,"  said  he,  calmly  and  with  cold  emphasis, 
"listen  to  this." 

"Get  out !  Get  your  time,  I  tell  you,  and  go !"  repeated 
the  bully.  "To  Hell  with  you!  Clear  out  of  here!" 

"I'm  going,"  the  young  man  answered.  "But  before  I 
do,  remember  this;  you  grazed  death,  just  now.  Well  for 
you,  Herzog,  almighty  well  for  you,  my  temper  didn't 
best  me.  For  remember,  you  struck  me  and  called  me 


90  THE    AIR    TRUST 

'thief — and  that  sort  of  thing  can't  be  forgotten,  ever, 
even  though  we  live  a  thousand  years. 

"Remember,  Herzog — not  now,  but  sometime.  Re 
member  that  one  word — sometime!  That's  all!" 

With  no  further  speech,  and  while  Herzog  still  stood 
there  by  the  shop  door,  sneering  at  him,  Armstrong  turned 
and  passed  out.  A  few  minutes  later  he  had  been  paid 
off,  had  packed  his  knapsack  with  his  few  belongings,  and 
was  outside  the  big  palisade,  striding  along  the  hard  and 
glaring  road  toward  the  station. 

"I  did  it,"  his  one  overmastering  thought  was.  "Thank 
heaven,  I  did  it !  I  held  my  temper  and  my  tongue,  didn't 
kill  that  spawn  of  Hell,  and  saved  the  whole  situation. 
I'm  out  of  a  job,  true  enough,  and  out  of  the  plant;  but 
after  all,  I'm  free — and  I  know  what's  in  the  wind ! 

"There's  yet  hope.  There'll  be  a  way,  a  way  to  do  this 
work!  What  a  man  must  do,  he  can  do!" 

Up  came  Armstrong's  chin,  as  he  walked.  His  shoul 
ders  squared,  with  strength  and  purpose,  and  his  stride 
swung  into  the  easy  machine  gait  that  had  already  car 
ried  him  so  many  thousand  miles  along  the  hard  and  bit 
ter  highways  of  the  world. 

As  he  strode  away,  on  the  long  road  toward  he  knew 
not  what,  words  seemed  to  form  and  shape  in  his  strength 
ened  and  refortified  mind — words  for  long  years  forgot 
ten — words  that  he  once  had  heard  at  his  mother's  knee : 

"He  that  ruleth  his  spirit  is  better  than  he  that  taketh 
a  city!" 


CHAPTER  X. 
A  GLIMPSE  AT  THE  PARASITES. 

Longmeadow  Country  Club,  on  the  Saturday 
afternoon  following  Armstrong's  abrupt  dismissal, 
was  a  scene  of  gaiety  and  beauty  without  compare.  Set  in 
broad  acres  of  wood  and  lawn,  the  club-house  proudly 
dominated  far-flung  golf-links  and  nearer  tennis-courts. 
Shining  motors  stood  parked  on  the  plaza  before  the  club 
garage,  each  valued  at  several  years'  wages  of  a  working- 
man.  Men  and  women — exploiters  all,  or  parasites — 
elegantly  and  coolly  clad  in  white,  smote  the  swift  sphere 
upon  the  tennis-court,  with  jest  and  laughter.  Others, 
attended  by  caddies — mere  proletarian  scum,  bent  beneath 
the  weight  of  cleeks  and  brassies — moved  across  the 
smooth-cropped  links,  kept  in  condition  by  grazing  sheep 
and  by  steam-rollers.  On  putting-green  and  around  bunk 
ers  these  idlers  struggled  with  artificial  difficulties,  while 
in  shops  and  mines  and  factories,  on  railways  and  in  the 
blazing  Hells  of  stoke-holes,  men  of  another  class,  a  slave- 
class,  labored  and  agonized,  toiled  and  died  that  these 
might  wear  fine  linen  and  spend  the  long  June  afternoon 
in  play. 

From  the  huge,  cobble-stone  chimney  of  the  Country 
Club,  upwafting  smoke  told  of  the  viands  now  preparing 
for  the  idlers'  dinner,  after  sport — rich  meats  and  dain 
ties  of  the  rarest.  In  the  rathskeller  some  of  the  elder 
and  more  indolent  men  were  absorbing  alcohol  while 


92  THE    AIR    TRUST 

music  played  and  painted  nymphs  of  abundant  charms 
looked  down  from  the  wall-frescoes.  Out  on  the  broad 
piazzas,  well  sheltered  by  awnings  from  the  rather  ardent 
sun,  men  and  women  sat  at  spotless  tables,  dallying  with 
drinks  of  rare  hues  and  exalted  prices.  Cigarette-smoke 
wafted  away  on  the  pure  breeze  from  over  the  Catskills, 
far  to  northwest,  de-filing  the  sweet  breath  of  Nature,  her 
self,  with  fumes  of  nicotine  and  dope.  A  Hungarian 
orchestra  was  playing  the  latest  Manhattan  ragtime,  at 
the  far  end  of  the  piazza.  It  was,  all  in  all,  a  scene 
of  rare  refinement,  characteristic  to  a  degree  of  the  efflor 
escence  of  American  capitalism. 

At  one  of  the  tables,  obviously  bored,  sat  Catherine 
Flint,  only  daughter  of  the  Billionaire.  A  rare  girl,  she, 
to  look  upon — deep-bosomed  and  erect,  dressed  simply  in 
a  middy-blouse  with  a  blue  tie,  a  khaki  skirt  and  low, 
rubber-soled  shoes  revealing  a  silk-stockinged  ankle  that 
would  have  attracted  the  enthusiastic  attention  of  gentle 
men  in  any  city  of  the  world.  No  hat  disfigured  the  coiled 
and  braided  masses  of  coppery  hair  that  circled  her  shapely 
head.  A  healthy  tan  on  face  and  arms  and  open  throat 
bespoke  her  keen  devotion  to  all  outdoor  life.  Her  fin 
gers,  lithe  and  strong,  were  graced  by  but  two  rings — a 
monogram,  of  gold,  and  the  betrothal  ring  that  Maxim 
Waldron  had  put  there,  only  three  weeks  before. 

Impatience  dominated  her.  One  could  see  that,  in  the 
nervous  tapping  of  her  fingers  on  the  cloth;  the  slight 
swing  of  her  right  foot  as  she  sat  there,  one  knee  crossed 
over  the  other;  the  glance  of  her  keen,  gray  eyes  down 
the  broad  drive-way  that  led  from  the  huge  stone  gates 
up  to  the  club-house. 

Beside  her  sat  a  nonentity  in  impeccable  dress,  dangling 


A  GLIMPSE  AT  THE  PARASITES          93 

a  monocle  and  trying  to  make  small-talk,  the  while  he  dal 
lied  with  a  Bronx  cocktail,  costing  more  than  a  day's 
wage  for  a  childish  flower-making  slave  of  the  tenements, 
and  inhaled  a  Rotten  Row  cigarette,  the  "last  word"  from 
London  in  the  tobacco  line.  To  the  sallies  of  this  elegant, 
the  girl  replied  by  only  monosyllables.  Her  glass  was 
empty,  nor  would  she  have  it  filled,  despite  the  exquisite's 
entreaties.  From  time  to  time  she  glanced  impatiently  at 
the  long  bag  of  golf-sticks  leaning  against  the  porch  rail ; 
and,  now  and  then,  her  eyes  sought  the  little  Cervine  watch 
set  in  a  leather  wristlet  on  her  arm. 

"Inconsiderate  of  him,  I'm  sure — ah — to  keep  so  mag 
nificent  a  Diana  waiting,"  drawled  her  companion,  blow 
ing  a  lungful  of  thin  blue  smoke  athwart  the  breeze. 
"Especially  when  you're  so  deuced  keen  on  doing  the 
course  before  dinner.  Now  if  /  were  the  favored  swain, 
wrild  horses  wouldn't  keep  me  away." 

She  made  no  answer,  but  turned  a  look  of  indifference 
on  the  shrimp  beside  her.  Had  he  possessed  the  soul  of 
a  real  man,  he  would  have  shriveled;  but,  being  oblivious 
to  all  things  save  the  pride  of  wealth  and  monstrous  self- 
conceit,  he  merely  snickered  and  reached  for  his  cocktail 
— which,  by  the  way,  he  was  absorbing  through  a  straw. 

"I  say,  Miss  Flint?"  he  presently  began  again,  stirring 
the  ice  in  the  cocktail. 

"Well?"  she  answered,  curtly. 

"If  you — er — are  really  very,  very  impatient  to  have  a 
go  at  the  links,  why  wait  for  Wally  ?  I — I  should  be  only 
too  glad  to  volunteer  my  services  as  your  knight-errant, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing." 

"Thanks,  awfully,"  she  answered,  "but  Mr.  Waldron 


94  THE    AIR  "TRUST 

promised  to  go  round  the  course  with  me,  this  afternoon, 
and  I'll  wait." 

The  impeccable  one  grinned  fatuously,  invited  her 
again  to  have  a  drink — which  she  declined — and  ordered 
another  for  himself,  with  profuse  apologies  for  drinking 
alone;  apologies  which  she  hardly  seemed  to  notice. 

"Deuced  bad  form  of  Wally,  I  must  say/'  the  gilded 
youth  resumed,  trying  to  make  capital  for  himself,  "to 
leave  you  in  the  lurch,  this  way!" 

Silence  from  Catherine.  The  would-be  interloper,  feel 
ing  that  he  was  on  the  wrong  track,  took  counsel  with 
himself  and  remained  for  a  moment  immersed  in  what  he 
imagined  to  be  thought.  At  last,  however,  with  an  ob 
lique  glance  at  his  indifferent  companion,  he  remarked. 

"Devilish  hard  time  women  have  in  this  world,  you 
know !  Don't  you  sometimes  wish  you  were  a  man  ?" 

Her  answer  flashed  back  like  a  rapier : 

"No!    Do  you  wish  you  were?" 

Stunned  by  this  "facer,"  Reginald  Van  Slyke  gasped 
and  stared.  That  he,  a  scion  of  the  Philadelphia  Van 
Slykes,  in  his  own  right  worth  two  hundred  million  dol 
lars — dollars  ground  out  of  the  Kensington  carpet-mill 
slaves  by  his  grandfather — should  be  thus  flouted  and  put 
upon  by  the  daughter  of  Flint,  that  parvenu,  absolutely 
floored  him.  For  a  moment  he  sat  there  speechless,  un 
able  even  to  reach  for  his  drink;  but  presently  some  co 
herence  returned.  He  was  about  to  utter  what  he  con 
ceived  to  be  a  strong  rejoinder,  when  the  girl  suddenly 
standing  up,  turned  her  back  upon  him  and  ignored  him 
as  completely  as  she  might  have  ignored  any  of  the  menials 
of  the  club. 

His  irritated  glance  followed  hers.     There,  far  down 


A  GLIMPSE  AT  "THE  PARASITES          95 

the  drive,  just  rounding  the  long  turn  by  the  artificial 
lake,  a  big  blue  motor  car  was  speeding  up  the  grade  at  a 
good  clip.  Van  Slyke  recognized  it,  and  swore  below  his 
breath. 

"Wally,  at  last,  damn  him !"  he  muttered.  "Just  when 
I  was  beginning  to  make  headway  with  Kate!" 

Vexed  beyond  endurance,  he  drummed  on  the  cloth  with 
angry  fingers;  but  Catherine  wras  oblivious.  Unmindful 
of  the  merry-makers  at  the  other  tables,  the  girl  waved 
her  handkerchief  at  the  swiftly-approaching  motor.  Wal- 
dron,  from  the  back  seat,  raised  an  answering  hand — 
though  without  enthusiasm.  Above  all  things  he  hated 
demonstration,  and  the  girl's  frank  manner,  free,  uncon 
ventional  and  not  yet  broken  to  the  harness  of  Mrs. 
Grundy,  never  failed  to  irritate  him. 

"Very  incorrect  for  people  in  our  set,"  he  often  thought. 
"But  for  the  present  I  can  do  nothing.  Once  she  is  my 
wife,  ah,  then  I  shall  find  means  to  curb  her.  For  the 
present,  however,  I  must  let  her  have  her  head." 

Such  was  now  his  frame  of  mind  as  the  long  car  slid 
under  the  porte-cochere  and  came  to  a  stand.  He  would 
have  infinitely  preferred  that  the  girl  should  wait  his  com 
ing  to  her,  on  the  piazza;  but  already  she  had  slung  her 
bag  of  sticks  over  her  strong  shoulder,  and  was  down  the 
steps  to  meet  him.  Her  leave-taking  of  the  incensed  Van 
Slyke  had  been  the  merest  nod. 

"You're  late,  Wally,"  said  she,  smiling  with  her  usual 
good  humor,  which  had  already  quite  dissipated  her  im 
patience.  "Late,  but  I'll  forgive  you,  this  time.  I'm  afraid 
we  won't  have  time  to  do  all  eighteen  holes  round.  What 
kept  you?" 

"Business,  business !"  he  answered,  frowning.    "Always 


96  THE    AIR    TRUST 

the  same  old  grind,  Kate.  You  women  don't  understand. 
I  tell  you,  this  slaving  in  Wall  Street  isn't  what  it's 
cracked  up  to  be.  I  couldn't  get  away  till  1 1 :3O.  Then, 
just  had  a  quick  bite  of  lunch,  and  broke  every  speed  law 
in  New  York  getting  here.  Do  you  forgive  me?" 

He  had  descended  from  the  car,  in  speaking.  They 
shook  hands,  while  the  chauffeur  stood  at  attention  and 
all  the  gossips  on  the  piazza,  scenting  the  possibility  of  a 
disagreement,  craned  discreetly  eager  necks  and  listened 
intently. 

"Forgive  you?  Of  course — this  time,  but  never  again," 
the  girl  laughed.  "Now,  run  along  and  get  into  your 
flannels.  I'll  meet  you  on  the  driving  green,  in  ten  min 
utes.  Not  another  second,  mind,  or " 

"I'll  be  on  the  dot,"  he  answered.  "Here,  boy,"  beck 
oning  a  caddy,  "take  Miss  Flint's  sticks.  And  have  mine 
carried  to  the  green.  Look  sharp,  now !" 

Then,  with  a  nod  at  the  girl,  he  ran  up  the  steps  and 
vanished  in  the  club-house,  bound  for  the  locker-room. 

Fifteen  minutes  the  girl  waited  on  the  green,  watching 
others  drive  off  from  the  little  tees  and  inwardly  chafing 
to  be  in  action.  Fifteen,  and  then  twenty,  before  Waldron 
finally  appeared,  immaculate  in  white,  bare-armed  and 
with  a  loose,  checked  cap  shading  his  close-set  eyes.  The 
fact  was,  in  addition  to  having  changed  his  clothes,  he 
had  felt  obliged  to  linger  in  the  bar  for  a  little  Scotch; 
and  one  drink  had  meant  another;  and  thus  precious  mo 
ments  had  sped. 

But  his  smile  was  confident  as  he  approached  the  green. 
Women,  after  all,  he  reflected,  were  meant  to  be  kept 
waiting.  They  never  appreciated  a  man  who  kept  appoint 
ments  exactly.  Not  less  fatuous  at  heart,  in  truth,  was 


A  GLIMPSE  AT  THE  PARASITES          97 

he,  than  the  unfortunate  Van  Slyke.  But  his  manner  was 
perfection  as  he  saluted  her  and  bade  the  caddy  build  their 
tees. 

The  girl,  however,  was  now  plainly  vexed.  Her  mouth 
had  drawn  a  trifle  tight  and  the  tilt  of  her  chin  was  de 
termined.  Her  eyes  were  far  from  soft,  as  she  sur 
veyed  this  delinquent  fiance. 

"I  don't  like  you  a  bit,  to-day,  Wally,"  said  she,  as  he 
deliberated  over  the  club-bag,  choosing  a  driver.  "This 
makes  twice  you've  kept  me  waiting.  I  warn  you  don't  let 
it  happen  again!" 

Under  the  seeming  banter  of  her  tone  lurked  real  re 
sentment.  But  he,  with  a  smile — partly  due  to  a  ringer 
too  much  Scotch — only  answered,  in  a  low  tone : 

"You're  adorable,  to-day,  Kate!  The  combination  of 
fresh  air  and  annoyance  has  painted  the  most  wonderful 
roses  on  your  cheeks !" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  with  a  little  motion  she 
had  inherited  from  French  ancestry,  stooped,  set  her  golf 
ball  on  the  little  mound  of  sand,  exactly  to  suit  her,  and 
raised  her  driver  on  high. 

"Nine  holes,"  said  she,  "and  I'm  going  to  beat  you, 
to-day!" 

He  frowned  a  little  at  the  spirit  of  the  threat,  for  any 
self-assertion  in  a  woman  crossed  his  grain;  but  soon 
forgot  his  pique  in  admiration  of  the  drive. 

Swishing,  her  club  flashed  down  in  a  quick  circle. 
Crack!  It  struck  the  gutta-percha  squarely.  The  little 
white  sphere  zipped  away  like  a  rocket,  rose  in  a  far 
trajectory,  up,  up,  toward  the  water-hazard  at  the  foot 
of  the  grassy  slope,  then  down  in  a  long  curve. 

Even  while  the  girl's  cry  of  "Fore !"  was  echoing  across 


98  THE     AIR     TRUST 

the  green,  the  ball  struck  earth,  ricochetted  and  sped  on, 
away,  across  the  turf,  till  it  came  to  rest  not  twenty  yards 
from  the  putting  green  of  the  first  hole. 

"Wheeoo!"  whistled  Waldron.  "Some  drive.  I  guess 
you're  going  to  make  good  your  threat,  to-day,  Kate  of 
my  heart !" 

The  smile  she  flashed  at  him  showed  that  her  resent 
ment  had,  for  the  moment,  been  forgotten. 

"Come  on,  Wally,  now  let's  see  what  you  can  do,"  said 
she,  starting  off  down  the  slope,  while  her  meek  caddy 
tagged  at  a  respectful  distance. 

Waldron,  thus  adjured,  teed  up  and  swung  at  the  ball. 
But  the  Scotch  had  by  no  means  steadied  his  aim.  He 
foozled  badly  and  broke  his  pet  driver,  into  the  bargain. 
The  steel  head  of  it  flew  farther  even  than  the  ball,  which 
moved  hardly  ten  yards. 

"Damn!"  he  muttered,  under  his  breath,  choosing  an 
other  stick  and  glancing  with  real  irritation  at  Catherine's 
lithe,  splendidly  poised  figure  already  some  distance  down 
the  slope. 

His  second  stroke  was  more  successful,  nearly  equalling 
hers.  But  her  advantage,  thus  early  won,  was  not  destined 
to  be  lost  again.  And  as  the  game  proceeded,  Waldron's 
temper  grew  steadily  worse  and  worse. 

Thus  began,  for  these  two  people,  an  hour  destined  to 
be  fraught  with  such  pregnant  developments — an  hour 
which,  in  its  own  way,  vitally  bore  on  the  great  loom  now 
weaving  warp  and  woof  of  world  events. 


CHAPTER  XL 
THE  END  OF  Two  GAMES. 

RIVIAL  events  sometimes  precipitate  catastrophies. 
It  has  been  said  that  had  James  MacDonald  not 
left  the  farm  gate  open,  at  Hugomont,  Waterloo  might 
have  ended  otherwise.  So  now,  the  rupture  between 
Catherine  Flint  and  Maxim  Waldron  was  precipitated  by 
a  single  unguarded  oath. 

It  was  at  the  ninth  hole,  down  back  of  the  Terrace 
Woods  bunker.  Waldron,  heated  by  exercise  and  the 
whiskey  he  had  drunk,  had  already  dismissed  the  caddies 
and  had  undertaken  to  carry  the  clubs,  himself,  hoping — 
man- fashion — to  steal  a  kiss  or  two  from  Catherine,  along 
the  edge  of  the  close-growing  oaks  and  maples.  But  all 
his  plans  went  agley,  for  Catherine  really  made  good  and 
beat  him,  there,  by  half  a  dozen  strokes;  and  as  her  little 
sphere,  deftly  driven  by  the  putting-iron  gripped  in  her 
brown,  firm  hands,  rolled  precisely  over  the  cropped  turf 
and  fell  into  the  tinned  hole,  the  man  ejaculated  a  per 
fectly  audible  "Hell!" 

She  stood  erect  and  faced  him,  with  a  singular  expres 
sion  in  those  level  gray  eyes — eyes  the  look  of  which 
could  allure  or  wither,  could  entice  or  command. 

"Wally,"  said  she,  "did  you  swear?" 

"I — er — why,  yes,"  he  stammered,  taken  aback  and  re 
alizing,  despite  his  chagrin,  how  very  poor  and  unsports 
manlike  a  figure  he  was  cutting. 


100  THE    AIR    TRUST 

"I  don't  like  it,"  she  returned.  "Not  a  little  bit,  Wally. 
It  isn't  game,  and  it  isn't  manly.  You  must  respect  me, 
now  and  always.  I  can't  have  profanity,  and  I  won't." 

He  essayed  lame  apologies,  but  a  sudden,  hot  anger 
seemed  to  have  possessed  him,  in  presence  of  this  free,  in 
dependent,  exacting  woman — this  woman  who,  worst  of 
all,  had  just  beaten  him  at  the  game  of  all  games  he  prided 
himself  on  playing  well.  And  despite  his  every  effort, 
she  saw  through  the  veil  of  sheer,  perfunctory  courtesy; 
and  seeing,  flushed  with  indignation. 

"Wally,"  she  said  in  a  low,  quiet  tone,  fixing  a  singular 
gaze  upon  him,  "Wally,  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of 
you  lately.  The  other  night  at  Idle  Hour,  you  hardly 
looked  at  me.  You  and  father  spent  the  whole  evening 
discussing  some  business  or  other " 

"Most  important  business,  my  dear  girl,  I  do  assure 
you,"  protested  Waldron,  trying  to  steady  his  voice. 
"Most  vitally " 

"No  matter  about  that,"  she  interposed.  "It  could  have 
been  abridged,  a  trifle.  I  barely  got  six  words  out  of 
you,  that  evening;  and  let  me  tell  you,  Wally,  a  woman 
never  forgets  neglect.  She  may  forgive  it ;  but  forget  it, 
never !" 

"Oh,  well,  if  you  put  it  that  way "  he  began,  but 

checked  himself  in  time  to  suppress  the  cutting  rejoinder 
he  had  at  his  tongue's  end. 

"I  do,  and  it's  vital,  Wally,"  she  answered.  "It's  all 
part  and  parcel  of  some  singular  kind  of  change  that's 
been  coming  over  you,  lately,  like  a  blight.  You  haven't 
been  yourself,  at  all,  these  few  days  past.  Something  or 
other,  I  don't  know  what,  has  been  coming  between  us. 
You've  got  something  else  on  your  mind,  beside  me — 


THE    END    OF    TWO    GAMES  101 

something  bigger  and  more  important  to  you  than  I  am 
— and — and " 

He  pulled  out  his  gold  cigar-case,  chose  and  lighted  a 
cigar  to  steady  his  nerve,  and  faced  her  with  a  smile — 
the  worst  tactic  he  could  possibly  have  chosen  in  dealing 
with  this  woman.  Supremely  successful  in  handling  men, 
he  lacked  finesse  and  insight  with  the  other  sex;  and  now 
that  lack,  in  his  moment  of  need,  was  bringing  him  mo 
ment  by  moment  nearer  the  edge  of  catastrophe. 

"I  don't  like  it  at  all,  Waldron,"  she  resumed,  again. 
"You  were  late,  the  other  night,  in  taking  me  to  the 
Flower  Show.  You  were  late,  to-day,  for  our  appoint 
ment  here;  and  the  ten  minutes  I  gave  you  to  get  ready 
in,  stretched  out  to  twenty  before  you " 

He  interrupted  her  with  a  gesture  of  uncontrollable 
vexation. 

"Really,  my  dear  Kate,"  he  exclaimed,  "if  you — er — 
insist  on  holding  me  to  account  for  every  moment " 

"You've  been  drinking,  too,  a  little,"  she  kept  on. 
"And  you  know  I  detest  it!  And  just  now,  when  I  beat 
you  in  a  square  game,  you  so  far  forgot  yourself  as  to 
swear.  Now,  Waldron " 

"Oh,  puritanical,  eh?"  he  sneered,  ignoring  the  danger 
signals  in  her  eyes.  Even  yet  there  might  have  been  some 
chance  of  avoiding  shipwreck,  had  he  heeded  those  twin 
beacons,  humbled  himself,  made  amends  by  due  apology 
and  promised  reformation.  For  though  Catherine  never 
had  truly  loved  this  man,  some  years  older  than  herself 
and  of  radically  different  character,  still  she  liked  and  re 
spected  him,  and  found  him — by  his  very  force  and 
dominance — far  more  to  her  taste  than  the  insipid  hang 
ers-on,  sons  of  fortune  or  fortune-hunters,  who,  like  the 


102  THE    AIR     TRUST 

sap-brained  Van  Slyke,  made  up  so  great  a  part  of  her 
"set" 

So,  all  might  yet  have  been  amended;  but  this  was  not 
to  be.  Never  yet  had  "Tiger"  Waldron  bowed  the  neck 
to  living  man  or  woman.  Dominance  was  his  whole 
scheme  of  life.  Though  he  might  purr,  politely  enough, 
so  long  as  his  fur  was  smoothed  the  right  way,  a  single 
backward  stroke  set  his  fangs  gleaming  and  unsheathed 
every  sabre-like  claw.  And  now  this  woman,  his  fiancee 
though  she  was,  her  beauty  dear  to  him  and  her  charm 
most  fascinating,  her  fortune  much  desired  and  most  of 
all,  an  alliance  with  her  father — now  this  woman,  despite 
all  these  considerations,  had  with  a  few  incisive  words 
ruffled  his  temper  beyond  endurance. 

So  great  was  his  agitation  that,  despite  his  strongest 
instinct  of  saving,  he  flung  away  the  scarcely-tasted  cigar. 

"Kate,"  he  exclaimed,  his  very  tongue  thick  with  the 
rage  he  could  not  quell,  "Kate,  I  can't  stand  this!  You're 
going  too  far.  What  do  you  know  of  men's  work  and 
men's  affairs?  Who  are  you,  to  judge  of  their  times  of 
coming  and  going,  their  obligations,  their  habits  and  man 
ners  of  life?  What  do  you  understand ?" 

"It's  obvious,"  she  replied  with  glacial  coldness,  "that 
I  don't  understand  you,  and  never  have.  I  have  been  liv 
ing  in  a  dream,  Wally;  seeing  you  through  the  glass  of 
illusion;  not  reality.  After  all,  you're  like  all  men — 
just  the  same,  no  different.  Idealism,  self-sacrifice,  con 
sideration,  true  nobility  of  character,  where  are  these,  in 
you  ?  What  is  there  but  the  same  old  selfishness,  the  same 
innate  masculine  conceit  and " 

"No  more  of  this,  Kate!"  cried  the  financier,  paling  a 
little.  "No  more!  I  can't  have  it!  I  won't — it's  im- 


THE    END    OF    TWO    GAMES  103 

possible!  You — you  don't  understand,  I  tell  you.  In 
your  narrow,  untrained,  woman's  way,  you  try  to  set  up 
standards  for  me;  try  to  judge  me,  and  dictate  to  me. 
Some  old  puritanical  streak  in  you  is  cropping  out,  some 
blue-law  atavism,  some  I  know  not  what,  that  rebels 
against  my  taking  a  drink — like  every  other  man.  That 
cries  out  against  my  letting  slip  a  harmless  oath — again, 
like  every  other  man  that  lives  and  breathes.  Every  man, 
that  is,  who  is  a  man,  a  real  man,  not  a  dummy!  If 
youVe  been  mistaken  in  me,  how  much  more  have  I,  in 
you!  And  so " 

"And  so/'  she  took  the  very  words  from  his  pale  lips, 
"we've  both  been  mistaken,  that's  all  No,  no,"  she  for 
bade  him  with  raised  hand,  as  he  would  have  interrupted 
with  protests.  "No,  you  needn't  try  to  convince  me  oth 
erwise,  now.  A  thousand  volumes  of  speeches,  after  this, 
couldn't  do  it.  An  hour's  insight  into  the  true  depths  of 
a  man's  character — yes,  even  a  moment's — perfectly  suffi 
ces  to  show  the  truth.  You've  just  drawn  the  veil  aside, 
Wally,  for  me,  and  let  me  look  at  the  true  picture.  All 
that  I've  known  and  thought  of  you,  so  far,  has  been  sham 
and  illusion.  Now,  I  know  you !" 

"You — you  don't,  Catherine!"  he  exclaimed,  half  in 
anger,  half  contrition,  terrified  at  last  by  the  imminent 
break  between  them,  by  the  thought  of  losing  this  rich 
flower  from  the  garden  of  womanhood,  this  splendid  finan 
cial  and  social  prize.  "I — I've  done  wrong,  Kate.  I  admit 
it.  But,  truly " 

"No  more,"  said  she,  and  in  her  voice  sounded  a  com 
mand  he  knew,  at  last,  was  quite  inexorable.  "I'm  not 
like  other  women  of  our  set,  perhaps.  I  can't  be  bought 
and  sold,  Wally,  with  money  and  position.  I  can't  marry 


104  THE     AIR     TRUST 

a  man,  and  have  to  live  with  him,  if  he  shows  himself 
petty,  or  small,  or  narrow  in  any  way.  I  must  be  free, 
free  as  air,  as  long  as  I  live.  Even  in  marriage,  I  must 
be  free.  Freedom  can  only  come  with  the  union  of  two 
souls  that  understand  and  help  and  inspire  each  other. 
Anything  else  is  slavery — and  worse !" 

She  shuddered,  and  for  a  moment  turned  half  away 
from  him,  as,  now  contrite  enough  for  the  minute,  he 
stood  there  looking  at  her  with  dazed  eyes.  For  a  second 
the  idea  came  to  him  that  he  must  take  her  in  his  arms, 
there  in  the  edge  of  the  woods,  burn  kisses  on  her  ripe 
mouth,  win  her  back  to  him  by  force,  as  he  had  won  all 
life's  battles.  He  would  not,  could  not,  let  this  prize 
escape  him  now.  A  wave  of  desire  surged  through  his 
being.  He  took  a  step  toward  her,  his  trembling  arms 
open  to  seize  her  lithe,  seductive  body.  But  she,  retreat 
ing,  held  him  away  with  repellant  palms. 

"No>,  no,  no!"  she  cried.  "Not  now — never  that,  any 
more!  I  must  be  free,  Wally — free  as  air!" 

She  raised  her  face  toward  the  vast  reaches  of  the  sky, 
breathed  deep  and  for  a  moment  closed  her  eyes,  as 
though  bathing  her  very  soul  in  the  sweet  freedom  of  the 
out-of-doors. 

"Free  as  air !"  she  whispered.     "Let  me  go !" 

He  started  violently.  Her  simile  had  struck  him  like  a 
lash. 

"Free — as  what?"  he  exclaimed  hoarsely.  "As  air? 
But — but  there's  no  such  freedom,  I  tell  you!  Air  isn't 
free  any  more — or  won't  be,  soon !  It  will  be  everything, 
anything  but  free,  before  another  year  is  gone!  Free  as 
air?  You — you  don't  understand!  Your  father  and  I 


THE    END    OF    TWO    GAMES  105 

— we  shall  soon  own  the  air.  Free  as  air?  Yes,  if 
you  like!  For  that — that  means  you,  too,  must  belong 
tome!" 

Again  he  sought  to  take  her,  to  hold  her  and  overmas 
ter  her.  But  she,  now  wide-eyed  with  a  kind  of  sudden 
terror  at  this  latest  outbreak,  this  seeming  madness  on 
his  part,  which  she  could  nowise  fathom  or  comprehend, 
retreated  ever  more  and  more,  away  from  him. 

Then  suddenly  with  a  quick  effort,  she  stripped  off 
the  splendid,  blazing  diamond  from  her  finger,  and  held 
it  out  to  him. 

"Wally,"  said  she,  calm  now  and  quite  herself  again, 
"Wally,  let's  be  friends.  Just  that  and  nothing  more. 
Dear,  good,  companionable  friends,  as  we  used  to  be, 
long  years  ago,  before  this  madness  seized  us — this  chi 
mera  of — of  love !" 

As  a  bull  charging,  is  struck  to  the  heart  by  the  sword 
of  the  matador,  and  stops  in  his  tracks,  motionless  and 
dazed  before  he  falls,  so  "Tiger"  Waldron  stopped,  wholly 
stunned  by  this  abrupt  and  crushing  denouement. 

For  a  moment,  man  and  woman  faced  each  other.  Not 
a  word  was  spoken.  Catherine  had  no  word  to  say;  and 
Waldron,  though  his  lips  worked,  could  bring  none  to 
utterance.  Then  their  eyes  met;  and  his  lowered. 

"Good-bye,"  said  she  quietly.  "Good-bye  forever,  as 
my  betrothed.  When  we  meet  again,  Wally,  it  will  be 
as  friends,  and  nothing  more.  And  now,  let  me  go. 
Don't  come  with  me.  I  prefer  to  be  alone.  I'd  rather 
walk,  a  bit,  and  think — and  then  go  back  quietly  to  the 
club-house,  and  so  home,  in  my  car.  Don't  follow  me. 
Here — take  this,  and — good-bye." 

Mechanically  he  accepted  the  gleaming  jewel.    Median- 


106  THE    AIR    TRUST 

ically,  like  a  man  without  sense  or  reason,  he  watched  her 
walk  away  from  him,  upright  and  strong  and  lithe,  volup 
tuous  and  desirable  in  every  motion  of  that  splendid  body, 
now  lost  to  him  forever.  Then  all  at  once,  entering  a 
woodland  path  that  led  by  a  short  cut  back  to  the  club 
house,  she  vanished  from  his  sight. 

Vanished,  without  having  even  so  much  as  turned  to 
look  at  him  again,  or  wave  that  firm  brown  hand. 

Then,  seeming  to  waken  from  his  daze,  "Tiger" 
laughed,  a  terrible  and  cruel  laugh;  and  then  he  flung  a 
frightful  blasphemy  upon  the  still  June  air;  and  then  he 
dashed  the  wondrous  diamond  to  earth,  and  stamped  and 
dug  it  with  a  perfect  frenzy  of  rage  into  the  soft  mold. 

And,  last  of  all,  with  lowered  head  and  lips  that  moved 
in  fearful  curses,  he  crashed  away  into  the  woods,  away 
from  the  path  where  the  girl  was,  away  from  the  club 
house,  away,  away,  thirsting  for  solitude  and  time  to 
quell  his  passion,  salve  his  wounded  pride  and  ponder 
measures  of  terrible  revenge. 

The  diamond  ring,  crushed  into  the  earth,  and  the  golf 
clubs,  lying  where  they  had  fallen  from  the  disputants' 
hands,  now  remained  there  as  melancholy  reminders  of 
the  double  game — love  and  golf — which  had  so  suddenly 
ended  in  disaster. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

: 

ON  THE  GREAT  HIGHWAY. 

aS  violently  rent  from  his  job  as  Maxim  Waldron 
had  been  torn  from  his  alliance  with  Catherine, 
Gabriel  Armstrong  met  the  sudden  change  in  his  affairs 
with  far  more  equanimity  than  the  financier  could  muster. 
Once  the  young  electrician's  first  anger  had  subsided — 
and  he  had  pretty  well  mastered  it  before  he  had  reached 
the  Oakwood  Heights  station — he  began  philosophically 
to  turn  the  situation  in  his  mind,  and  to  rough  out  his 
plans  for  the  future. 

"Things  might  be  worse,  all  round,"  he  reflected,  as  he 
strode  along  at  a  smart  pace.  "During  the  seven  months 
I've  been  working  for  these  pirates,  I've  managed  to 
pay  off  the  debt  I  got  into  at  the  time  of  the  big  E. 
W.  strike,  and  I've  got  eighteen  dollars  or  a  little  more 
in  my  pocket.  My  clothes  will  do  a  while  longer.  Even 
though  Flint  blacklists  me  all  over  the  country,  as  he 
probably  will,  I  can  duck  into  some  job  or  other,  some 
where.  And  most  important  of  all,  I  know  what's  due 
to  happen  in  America — I've  seen  that  note-book!  Let 
them  do  what  they  will,  they  can't  take  that  knowledge 
away  from  me!" 

The  outlook,  on  the  whole,  was  cheering.  Gabriel 
broke  into  a  whistle,  as  he  swung  along  the  highway,  and 
slashed  cheerfully  with  his  heavy  stick  at  the  dusty  bushes 
by  the  roadside.  A  vigorous,  pleasing  figure  of  a  man 


108  THE    AIR    TRUST 

he  made,  striding  onward  in  his  blue  flannel  shirt  and 
corduroys,  stout  boots  making  light  of  distance,  some 
what  rebellious  black  hair  clustering  under  his  cap,  blue 
eyes  clear  and  steady  as  the  sunlight  itself.  There  must 
have  been  a  drop  of  Irish  blood  somewhere  or  other  in 
his  veins,  to  have  given  him  that  ruddy  cheek,  those  eyes, 
that  hair,  that  quick  enthusiasm  and  that  swiftness  to 
anger — then,  by  reaction,  that  quick  buoyancy  which  so 
soon  banished  everything  but  courageous  optimism  from 
his  hot  heart. 

Thus  the  man  walked,  all  his  few  worldly  belongings 
— most  precious  among  them  his  union  card  and  his  red 
Socialist  card — packed  in  the  knapsack  strapped  to  his 
broad  shoulders.  And  as  he  walked,  he  formulated  his 
plans. 

"Niagara  for  mine/'  he  decided.  It's  there  these  hell 
ions  mean  to  start  their  devilish  work  of  enslaving  the 
whole  world.  It's  there  I  want  to  be,  and  must  be,  to 
follow  the  infernal  job  from  the  beginning  and  to  nail 
it,  when  the  right  time  comes.  I'll  put  in  a  day  or  two 
with  my  old  friend,  Sam  Underwood,  up  in  the  Bronx, 
and  maybe  tell  him  what's  doing  and  frame  out  the  line 
of  action  with  him.  But  after  that,  I  strike  for  Niagara 
— yes,  and  on  foot !" 

This  decision  came  to  him  as  strongly  desirable.  Not 
for  some  time,  he  knew,  could  the  actual  work  of  build 
ing  the  Air  Trust  plant  be  started  at  Niagara.  Mean 
while,  he  wanted  to  keep  out  of  sight,  as  much  as  pos 
sible.  He  wanted,  also  to  save  every  cent.  Again,  his 
usual  mode  of  travel  had  always  been  either  to  ride  the 
rods  or  "hike"  it  on  shanks'  mare.  Bitterly  opposed  to 
swelling  the  railways'  revenues  by  even  a  penny,  Arm- 


ON    THE    GREAT    HIGHWAY  109 

strong  in  the  past  few  years  of  his  life  had  done  some 
thousands  of  miles,  afoot,  all  over  the  country.  His 
best  means  of  Socialist  propaganda,  he  had  found,  was 
in  just  such  meanderings  along  the  highways  and  hedges 
of  existence — a  casual  job,  here  or  there,  for  a  day,  a 
week,  a  month — then,  quick  friendships;  a  little  talk;  a 
few  leaflets  handed  to  the  intelligent,  if  he  could  find  any. 
He  had  laced  the  continent  with  such  peregrinations,  al 
ways  sowing  the  seed  of  revolution  wherever  he  had 
passed;  getting  in  touch  with  the  Movement  all  over  the 
republic ;  keeping  his  finger  on  the  pulse  of  ever-growing, 
always-strengthening  Socialism. 

Such  had  his  habits  long  been.  And  now,  once  more 
adrift  and  jobless,  but  with  the  most  tremendous  secret 
of  the  ages  in  his  possession,  he  naturally  turned  to  the 
comfort  and  the  calming  influence  of  the  broad  highway, 
in  his  long  journey  towards  the  place  where  he  was  to 
meet,  in  desperate  opposition,  the  machinations  of  the 
Air  Trust  magnates. 

"It's  the  only  way  for  me,"  he  decided,  as  he  turned 
into  the  road  leading  toward  Saint  George  and  the  Man 
hattan  Ferry.  "Flint  and  Herzog  will  be  sure  to  put 
Slade  and  the  Cosmos  people  after  me.  Blacklisting  will 
be  the  least  of  what  they'll  try  to  do.  They'll  use  slug 
ging  tactics,  sure,  if  they  get  a  chance,  or  railroad  me  to 
some  Pen  or  other,  if  possible.  My  one  best  bet  is  to 
keep  out  of  their  way;  and  I  figure  I'm  ten  times  safer 
on  the  open  road,  with  a  few  dollars  to  stave  off  a  vag 
rancy  charge,  and  with  two  good  fists  and  this  stick  to 
keep  'em  at  a  distance,  than  I  would  be  on  the  railroads 
or  in  cheap  dumps  along  the  way. 


110  THE    AIR    TRUST 

"The  last  place  they'll  ever  think  of  looking  for  me 
will  be  the  big  outdoors.  Their  idea  of  hunting  for  a 
workman  is  to  dragnet  the  back  rooms  of  saloons — espe 
cially  if  they're  after  a  Socialist.  That's  the  limit  of  their 
intelligence,  to  connect  Socialism  and  beer.  I'll  beat  'em; 
I'll  hike — and  it's  a  hundred  to  one  I  land  in  Niagara 
with  more  cash  than  when  I  started,  with  better  health, 
more  knowledge,  and  the  freedom  that,  alone,  can  save 
the  world  now  from  the  most  damnable  slavery  that  ever 
threatened  its  existence  I" 

Thus  reasoning,  with  perfect  clarity  and  a  long-headed- 
ness  that  proved  him  a  strategist  at  four-and-twenty, 
Gabriel  Armstrong  whistled  a  louder  note  as  he  tramped 
away  to  northward,  away  from  the  hateful  presence  of 
Herzog,  away  from  the  wage-slavery  of  the  Oakwood 
Heights  plant,  away — with  that  precious  secret  in  his 
brain — toward  the  far  scene  of  destined  warfare,  where 
stranger  things  were  to  ensue  than  even  he  could  pos 
sibly  conceive. 

Saturday  morning  found  him,  his  visit  with  Under 
wood  at  an  end,  already  twenty  miles  or  more  from  the 
Bronx  River,  marching  along  through  Haverstraw,  up 
the  magnificent  road  that  fringes  the  Hudson — now  hid 
den  from  the  mighty  river  behind  a  forest-screen,  now 
curving  on  bold  abutments  right  above  the  sun-kissed* 
expanses  of  Haverstraw  Bay,  here  more  than  two  miles 
from  wooded  shore  to  shore. 

At  eleven,  he  halted  at  a  farm  house,  some  miles  north 
of  the  town,  got  a  job  on  the  woodpile,  and  astonished  the 
farmer  by  the  amount  of  birch  he  could  saw  in  an  hour. 
He  took  his  pay  in  the  shape  of  a  bountiful  dinner,  and 
— after  half  an  hour's  smoke  and  talk  with  the  farmer,  to 


ON    THE   GREAT    HIGHWAY  111 

whom  he  gave  a  few  pamphlets  from  the  store  in  his 
knapsack — said  good-bye  to  all  hands  and  once  more  set 
his  face  northward  for  the  long  hike  through  much  wilder 
country,  to  West  Point,  where  he  hoped  to  pass  the  night. 

Thus  we  must  leave  him,  for  a  while.  For  now  the 
thread  of  our  narration,  like  the  silken  cord  in  the  Laby 
rinth  of  Crete,  leads  us  back  to  the  Country  Club  at  Long- 
meadow,  the  scene,  that  very  afternoon,  of  the  sudden  and 
violent  rupture  between  the  financier  and  Catherine  Flint. 

Catherine,  her  first  indignation  somewhat  abated,  and 
now  vastly  relieved  at  the  realization  that  she.  indeed 
was  free  from  her  loveless  and  long-since  irksome  alli 
ance  with  Waldron,  calmly  enough  returned  to  the  club 
house.  Head  well  up,  and  eyes  defiant,  she  walked  up 
the  broad  steps  and  into  the  office.  Little  cared  she 
whether  the  piazza  gossips — The  Hammer  and  Anvil 
Club,  in  local  slang — divined  the  quarrel  or  not.  The 
girl  felt  herself  immeasurably  indifferent  to  such  petti 
nesses  as  prying  small  talk  and  innuendo.  Let  people 
know,  or  not,  as  might  be,  she  cared  not  a  whit.  Her 
business  was  her  o\vn.  No  wagging  of  tongues  could  one 
hair's  breadth  disturb  that  splendid  calm  of  hers. 

The  clerk,  behind  the  desk,  smiled  and  nodded  at  her 
approach. 

"Please  have  my  car  brought  round  to  the  porte- 
cochere,  at  once?"  she  asked.  "And  tell  Herrick  to  be 
sure  there's  plenty  of  sras  for  a  long  run.  I'm  going 
through  to  New  York." 

"So  soon?"  queried  the  clerk.  "I'm  sure  your  father 
will  be  disappointed.  Miss  Flint.  He's  just  wired  that 
he's  coming  out  tomorrow,  to  spend  Sunday  here.  He 
particularly  asks  to  have  you  remain.  See  here?" 


112  THE    AIR    TRUST 

He  handed  her  a  telegram.  She  glanced  it  over,  then 
crumpled  it  and  tossed  it  into  the  office  fire-place. 

"I'm  sorry,"  she  answered.  "But  I  can't  stay.  I  must 
get  back,  to-night.  I'll  telegraph  father  not  to  come.  A 
blank,  please?" 

The  clerk  handed  her  one.  She  pondered  a  second, 
then  wrote: 

Dear  Father :  A  change  of  plans  makes  me  return 
home  at  once.  Please  wait  and  see  me  there.  I've 
something  important  to  talk  over  ivith  you. 

Affectionately, 

Kate. 

Ordinarily  people  try  to  squeeze  their  message  to  ten 
words,  and  count  and  prune  and  count  again;  but  not 
so,  Catherine.  For  her,  a  telegram  had  never  contained 
any  space  limit.  It  meant  less  to  her  than  a  post-card 
to  you  or  me.  Not  that  the  girl  was  consciously  extrav 
agant.  No,  had  you  asked  her,  she  would  have  claimed 
rigid  economy — she  rarely,  for  instance,  paid  mo-re  than  a 
hundred  dollars  for  a  morning  gown,  or  more  than  a 
thousand  for  a  ball-dress.  It  was  simply  that  the  idea  of 
counting  words  had  never  yet  occurred  to  her.  And  so 
now,  she  complacently  handed  this  verbose  message  to 
the  clerk,  who — thoroughly  well-trained — understood  it 
was  to  be  charged  on  her  father's  perfectly  staggering 
monthly  bill. 

"Very  well,  Miss  Flint,"  said  he.  "I'll  send  this  at 
once.  And  your  car  will  be  ready  for  you  in  ten  min 
utes — or  five,  if  you  like?" 


ON    THE   GREAT    HIGHWAY  113 

"Ten  will  do,  thank  you,"  she  answered.  Then  she 
crossed  to  the  elevator  and  went  up  to  her  own  suite  of 
rooms  on  the  second  floor,  for  her  motor-coat  and  veils. 

"Free,  thank  heaven!"  she  breathed,  with  infinite  re 
lief,  as  she  stood  before  the  tall  mirror,  adjusting  these 
for  the  long  trip.  "Free  from  that  man  forever.  What  a 
narrow  escape!  If  things  hadn't  happened  just  as  they 
did,  and  if  I  hadn't  had  that  precious  insight  into  Wally's 
character — good  Lord ! — catastrophe !  Oh,  I  haven't  been 
so  happy  since  I — since — why,  I've  never  been  so  happy 
in  all  my  life ! 

"Wally,  dear  boy,"  she  added,  turning  toward  the  win 
dow  as  though  apostrophizing  him  in  reality,  "now  we 
can  be  good  friends.  Now  all  the  sham  and  pretense  are 
at  an  end,  forever.  As  a  friend,  you  may  be  splendid. 
As  a  husband — oh,  impossible!" 

Lighter  of  heart  than  she  had  been  for  years,  was  she, 
with  the  added  zest  of  the  long  spin  through  the  beauty 
of  the  June  country  before  her — down  among  the  hills 
and  cliffs,  among  the  forests  and  broad  valleys — down  to 
New  York  again,  back  to  the  father  and  the  home  she 
loved  better  than  all  else  in  the  world. 

In  this  happy  frame  of  mind  she  presently  entered  the 
low-hung,  swift-motored  car,  settled  herself  on  the  lux 
urious  cushions  and  said  "Home,  at  once !"  to  Herrick. 

He  nodded,  but  did  not  speak.  He  felt,  in  truth,  some 
what  incapable  of  quite  incoherent  speech.  Not  having 
expected  any  service  till  next  day,  he  had  foregathered 
with  others  of  his  ilk  in  the  servants'  bar,  below-stairs, 
and  had  with  wassail  and  good  cheer  very  effectively  put 
himself  out  of  commission. 

But,  somewhat  sobered  by  this  quick  summons,  he  had 


114  THE    AIR    TRUST 

managed  to  pull  together.  Now,  drunk  though  he  was, 
he  sat  there  at  the  wheel,  steady  enough — so  long  as  he 
held  on  to  it — and  only  by  the  redness  of  his  face  and  a 
certain  glassy  look  in  his  eye,  betrayed  the  fact  of  his 
intoxication.  The  girl,  busy  with  her  farewells  as  the 
car  drew  up  for  her,  had  not  observed  him.  At  the 
last  moment  Van  Slyke  waved  a  foppish  hand  at  her,  and 
smirked  adieux.  She  acknowledged  his  good-bye  with 
a  smile,  so  happy  was  she  at  the  outcome  of  her  golf- 
game;  then  cast  a  quick  glance  up  at  the  club  windows, 
fearing  to  see  the  harsh  face  of  Wally  peeping  down  at 
her  in  anger. 

But  he  was  nowhere  to  be  seen;  and  now,  with  a  sud 
den  acceleration  of  the  powerful  six-cylinder  engine,  the 
big  gray  car  moved  smoothly  forward.  Growling  in  its 
might,  it  swung  in  a  wide  circle  round  the  sweep  of  the 
drive,  gathered  speed  and  shot  away  down  the  grade 
toward  the  stone  gates  of  the  entrance,  a  quarter  mile 
distant. 

Presently  it  swerved  through  these,  to  southward. 
Club-house,  waving  handkerchiefs  and  all  vanished  from 
Kate's  view. 

"Faster,  Herrick,"  she  commanded,  leaning  forward, 
"I  must  be  home  by  half  past  five." 

Again  he  nodded,  and  notched  spark  and  throttle 
down.  The  car,  leaping  like  a  wild  creature,  began  to 
hum  at  a  swift  clip  along  the  smooth,  white  road  toward 
Newburgh  on  the  Hudson. 

Thirty  miles  an  hour  the  speedometer  showed,  then 
thirty-five  and  forty.  Again  the  drunken  chauffeur,  still 
master  of  his  machine  despite  the  poison  pulsing  in  his 


ON    THE    GREAT    HIGHWAY  115 

dazed  brain,  snicked  the  little  levers  further  down.  For 
ty-five,  fifty,  fifty-five,  the  figures  on  the  dial  showed. 

Now  the  exhaust  ripped  in  a  crackling  staccato,  like  a 
machine  gun,  as  the  chauffeur  threw  out  the  muffler.  Be 
hind,  a  long  trail  of  dust  rose,  whirling  in  the  air.  Cath 
erine,  a  sportswoman  born,  leaned  back  and  smiled  with 
keen  pleasure,  while  her  yellow  veil,  whipping  sharply  on 
the  wind,  let  stray  locks  of  that  wonderful  red-gold  hair 
stream  about  her  flushed  face. 

Thus  she  sped  home\vard,  driven  at  a  mad  race  by  a 
man  whose  every  sense  was  numbed  and  stultified  by  al 
cohol — homeward,  along  a  road  up  which,  far,  far  away, 
another  man,  keen,  sober  and  alert,  was  trudging  with  a 
knapsack  on  his  broad  back,  swinging  a  stick  and  whist 
ling  cheerily  as  he  went. 

Fate,  that  strange  moulder  of  human  destinies,  what 
had  it  in  store  for  these  two,  this  woman  and  this  man? 
This  daughter  of  a  billionaire,  and  this  young  prole 
tarian  ? 

Who  could  foresee,  or,  foreseeing,  could  believe  what 
even  now  stood  written  on  the  Book  of  Destiny? 


CHAPTER  XIII. 
CATASTROPHE  ! 

EOR  a  time  no  danger  seemed  to  threaten.  Kate  was 
not  only  fearless  as  a  passenger,  but  equally  in 
trepid  at  the  wheel.  Many  a  time  and  oft  she  had  driven 
her  father's  highest-powered  car  at  dizzying  speeds  along 
worse  roads  than  the  one  her  machine  was  now  follow 
ing.  Velocity  was  to  her  a  kind  of  stimulant,  wonder 
fully  pleasurable;  and  now,  realizing  nothing  of  the  truth 
that  Her  rick  was  badly  the  worse  for  liquor,  she  leaned 
back  in  the  tonneau,  breathed  the  keen  slashing  air  with 
delight,  and  let  her  eyes  wander  over  the  swiftly-changing 
panorama  of  forest,  valley,  lake  and  hill  that,  in  ever 
new  and  more  radiant  beauty,  sped  away,  away,  as  the 
huge  car  leaped  down  the  smooth  and  rushing  road. 

Dust  and  pebbles  flew  in  the  wake  of  the  machine,  as 
it  gathered  velocity.  Beneath  it,  the  highway  sped  like 
an  endless  white  ribbon,  whirling  back  and  away  with 
smooth  rapidity.  No  common  road,  this,  but  one  which 
the  State  authorities  had  very  obligingly  built  especially 
for  the  use  of  millionaires'  motor  cars,  all  through  the 
region  of  country-clubs,  parks,  bungalows  and  summer- 
resorts  dotting  the  west  shore  region  of  the  Hudson.  Let 
the  farmer  truck  his  produce  through  mud  and  nits,  if 
he  would.  Let  the  country  folk  drive  their  ramshackle 
buggies  over  rocks  and  stumps,  if  they  so  chose.  Nothing 
of  that  sort  for  millionaires!  No,  they  must  have  ma- 


CATASTROPHE  117 

cadam  and  smooth,  long  curves,  easy  grades  and — 
where  the  road  swung  high  above  the  gleaming  river — 
retaining  walls  to  guard  them  from  plunging  into  the 
palisaded  abyss  below. 

At  just  such  a  place  it  was,  where  the  road  made  a 
sharper  turn  than  any  the  drunken  chauffeur  had  reck 
oned  on,  that  catastrophe  leaped  out  to  shatter  the  rush 
ing  car. 

Only  a  minute  before,  Kate — a  little  uneasy  now,  at 
the  truly  reckless  speeding  of  the  driver,  and  at  the  dare 
devil  way  in  which  he  was  taking  curves  without  either 
sounding  his  siren  or  reducing  speed — had  touched  him 
on  the  shoulder,  with  a  command:  "Not  quite  so  fast, 
Herrick!  Be  careful!" 

His  only  answer  had  been  a  drunken  laugh. 

"Careful  nothing!"  he  slobbered,  to  himself.  "You 
wanted  speed — an'  now — he! — b' Jesus,  you  get — he! — 
speed!  /  ain't  'fraid — are — he! — you?" 

She  had  not  heard  the  words,  but  had  divined  their 
meaning. 

"Herrick!"  she  commanded  sharply,  leaning  forward. 
"What's  the  matter  with  you?  Obey  me,  do  you  hear? 
Not  so  fast !" 

A  whiff  of  alcoholic  breath  suddenly  told  her  the 
truth.  For  a  second  she  sat  there,  as  though  petrified, 
with  fear  now  for  the  first  time  clutching  at  her  heart. 

"Stop  at  once!"  she  cried,  gripping  the  man  by  the 
collar  of  his  livery.  "You — you're  drunk,  Herrick !  I — 
Fll  have  you  discharged,  at  once,  when  we  get  home. 
Stop,  do  you  hear  me  ?  You're  not  fit  to  drive.  I'll  take 
the  wheel  myself!" 


118  THE    AIR    TRUST 

But  Herrick,  hopelessly  under  the  influence  of  the 
poison,  which  had  now  produced  its  full  effect,  paid  no 
heed. 

"Y* — can't  dri'  thish  car!"  he  muttered,  in  maudlin  ac 
cents.  "Too  big — too  heavy  for — he! — woman!  I — /  dri' 
it  all  right,  drunk  or  sober !  Good  chauffeur — good  car — 
I  know  thish  car!  You  won't  fire  me — he! — for  takin' 
drink  or  two,  huh  ?  I  drive  you  all  ri' — drive  you  to  New 
York  or  to — he! — Hell!  Same  thing,  no  difference,  ha! 
ha!— I—'1 

A  sudden  blaze  of  rage  crimsoned  the  girl's  face.  In 
all  her  life  she  never  had  been  thus  spoken  to.  For  a 
second  she  clenched  her  fist,  as  though  to  strike  down 
this  sodden  brute  there  in  the  seat  before  her — a  feat  she 
would  have  been  quite  capable  of.  But  second  thought 
convinced  her  of  the  peril  of  such  an  act.  Ahead  of  them 
a  long  down-grade  stretched  away,  away,  to  a  turn  half- 
hidden  under  the  arching  greenery.  As  the  car  struck  this 
slope,  it  leaped  into  ever  greater  speed;  and  now,  under 
the  erratic  guidance  of  the  lolling  wretch  at  the  wheel,  it 
began  to  sway  in  long,  unsteady  curves,  first  toward  one 
ditch,  then  the  other. 

Another  woman  would  have  screamed ;  might  even  have 
tried  to  jump  out.  But  Kate  was  not  of  the  hysteric  sort. 
More  practical,  she. 

"I've  got  to  climb  over  into  the  front  seat,"  she  real 
ized  in  a  flash,  "and  shut  off  the  current — cut  the  power 
off — stop  the  car !" 

On  the  instant,  she  acted..  But  as  she  arose  in  the  ton- 
neau,  Herrick,  sensing  her  purpose,  turned  toward  her  in 
the  sudden  rage  of  complete  intoxication. 

"Naw— naw  y'  don't!"  he  shouted,  his  face  perfectly 


CATASTROPHE  119 

purple  with  fury  and  drink.  "No  woman — he ! — runs  this 
old  boat  while  I'm  aboard,  see?  Go  on,  fire  me!  / 
don't  give — damn !  But  you  don't  run — car !  Sit  down ! 
/  run  car — New  York  or  Hell — no  matter  which!  / — " 

Hurtling  down  the  slope  like  a  runaway  comet,  now 
wholly  out  of  control,  the  powerful  gray  car  leaped  madly 
at  the  turn. 

Catherine,  her  heart  sick  at  last  with  terror,  caught 
a  second's  glimpse  of  forest,  on  one  hand;  of  a  stone 
wall  with  tree-tops  on  some  steep  abyss  below,  just  graz 
ing  it,  on  the  other.  Through  these  trees  she  saw  a  mo 
mentary  flash  of  water,  far  beneath.. 

Then  the  leaping  front  wheels  struck  a  cluster  of  loose 
pebbles,  at  the  bend. 

Wrenched  from  the  drunkard's  grip,  the  steering  wheel 
jerked  sharply  round. 

A  skidding — a  crash — a  cry! 

Over  the  roadway,  vacant  now,  floated  a  tenuous  cloud 
of  dust  and  gasoline-vapor,  commingled. 

In  the  retaining-wall  at  the  left,  a  jagged  gap  appeared. 
Suddenly,  far  below,  toward  the  river,  a  crashing  de 
tonation  shattered  harsh  echoes  from  shore  to  shore. 

Came  a  quick  flash  of  light;  then  thick,  black,  greasy 
smoke  arose,  and,  wafting  through  the  treetops,  drifted 
away  on  the  warm  wind  of  that  late  June  afternoon. 

A  man,  some  quarter  of  a  mile  to  southward,  on  the 
great  highway,  paused  suddenly  at  sound  of  this  ex 
plosion. 

For  a  moment  he  stood  there  listening  acutely,  a  knot 
ted  stick  in  hand,  his  flannel  shirt,  open  at  the  throat, 
showing  a  brown  and  corded  neck.  The  heavy  knapsack 


120  THE    AIR    TRUST 

on  his  shoulders  seemed  no  burden  to  that  rugged 
strength,  as  he  stood,  poised  and  eager,  every  sense  cen 
tered  in  keen  attention. 

"Trouble  ahead,  there,  by  the  Eternal!''  he  suddenly 
exclaimed.  His  eye  had  just  caught  sight  of  the  first 
trailing  wreaths  of  smoke,  from  up  the  cliff.  "An  auto's 
gone  to  smash,  down  there,  or  I'm  a  plute!" 

He  needed  no  second  thought  to  hurl  him  forward  to 
the  rescue.  At  a  smart  pace  he  ran,  halloo'ing  loudly,  to 
tell  the  victims — should  they  still  live — that  help  was  at 
hand.  At  his  right,  extended  the  wall.  At  his  left,  a 
grove  of  sugar-maples,  sparsely  set,  climbed  a  long  slope, 
over  the  ridge  of  which  the  descending  sun  glowed  warm 
ly.  Somewhat  back  from  the  road,  a  rough  shack  which 
served  as  a  sugar-house  for  the  spring  sap-boiling,  stood 
with  gaping  door,  open  to  all  the  winds  that  blew.  These 
things  he  noted  subconsciously,  as  he  ran. 

Then,  all  at  once,  as  he  rounded  a  sharp  turn,  he  drew 
up  with  a  cry. 

"Down  the  cliff!"  he  exclaimed.  "Knocked  the  wall 
clean  out,  and  plunged !  Holy  Mackinaw,  what  a  smash  I" 

In  a  moment  he  had  reached  the  scene  of  the  catas 
trophe.  His  quick  eye  took  in,  almost  at  a  glance,  the 
skidding  mark  of  the  wheels,  the  ragged  rent  in  the 
wall,  the  broken  limbs  of  trees  below. 

"Some  wreck!"  he  ejaculated,  dropping  his  stick  and 
throwing  off  his  knapsack.  "Hello,  Hello,  down  there!" 
he  loudly  hailed,  scrambling  through  the  gap. 

From  below,  no  answer. 

A  silence,  as  of  death,  broken  only  by  the  echo  of  his 
own  voice,  was  all  that  greeted  his  wild  cry. 


He   gathered    her   up   as   though   she    had   been    a   child. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
THE  RESCUE. 

eABRIEL  ARMSTRONG  leaped,  rather  than  clam 
bered,  through  the  gap  in  the  wall,  and,  following 
the  track  of  devastation  through  the  trees,  scrambled 
down  the  steep  slope  that  led  toward  the  Hudson. 

The  forest  looked  as  though  a  car  of  Juggernaut  had 
passed  that  way.  Limbs  and  saplings  lay  in  confusion, 
larger  trees  showed  long  wounds  upon  their  bark,  and 
here  and  there  pieces  of  metal — a  gray  mud-guard,  a  car 
door,  a  wind-shield  frame,  with  shattered  plate  glass  still 
clinging  to  it — lay  scattered  on  the  precipitous  declivity. 
Beside  these,  hanging  to  a  branch,  Gabriel  saw  a  gaily- 
striped  auto  robe;  and,  further  down,  a  heavy,  fringed 
shawl. 

Again  he  shouted,  holding  to  a  tree-trunk  at  the  very 
edge  of  a  cliff  of  limestone,  and  peering  far  down  into 
the  abyss  where  the  car  had  taken  its  final  plunge.  Still 
no  answer.  But,  from  below,  the  heavy  smoke  still  rose. 
And  now,  peering  more  keenly,  Armstrong  caught  sight 
of  the  wreck  itself. 

'There  it  is,  and  burning  like  the  pit  of  Hell !"  he  ex 
claimed.  "And — what's  that,  under  it?  A  man?" 

He  could  not  distinctly  make  out,  so  thick  the  foliage 
was.  But  it  seemed  to  him  that,  from  under  the  jumbled 
wreckage  of  the  blazing  machine,  something  protruded, 


122  THE     AIR     TRUST 

something  that  suggested  a  human  form,  horribly  man 
gled. 

"Here's  where  I  go  down  this  cliff,  whatever  happens!" 
decided  Gabriel.  And,  acting  on  the  instant,  he  began 
swinging  himself  down  from  tree  to  bush,  from  shrub 
to  tuft  of  grass,  clinging  wherever  handhold  or  foothold 
offered,  digging  his  stout  boots  into  every  cleft  and 
cranny  of  the  precipice. 

The  height  could  not  have  been  less  than  a  hundred 
and  fifty  feet.  By  dint  of  wonderful  strength  and  agility, 
and  at  the  momentary  risk  of  falling,  himself,  to  almost 
certain  death,  Gabriel  descended  in  less  than  ten  minutes. 
The  last  quarter  of  the  distance  he  practically  fell,  slid 
ing  at  a  tremendous  rate,  with  boulders  and  loose  earth 
cascading  all  about  him  in  a  shower. 

He  landed  close  by  the  flaming  ruin. 

"Lucky  this  isn't  in  the  autumn,  in  the  dry  season!" 
thought  he,  as  he  approached.  "If  it  were,  this  whole 
cliff-side,  and  the  woods  beyond,  would  be  a  roaring  fur 
nace.  Some  forest-fire,  all  right,  if  the  woods  weren't 
wet  and  full  of  sap !" 

Parting  the  brush,  he  made  his  way  as  close  to  the 
car  as  the  intense  heat  would  let  him.  The  gasoline-tank, 
he  understood,  had  burst  with  the  shock,  and,  taking  fire, 
had  wrapped  the  car  in  an  Inferno  of  unquenchable  flame. 
Now,  the  woodwork  was  entirely  gone ;  and  of  the  wheels, 
as  the  long  machine  lay  there  on  its  back,  only  a  few  blaz 
ing  spokes  were  left.  The  steel  chassis  and  the  engine 
were  red-hot,  twisted  and  broken  as  though  a  giant 
hammer  had  smitten  them  on  some  Vulcanic  anvil. 

"There's  a  few  thousand  dollars  gone  to,  the.  devil  t" 


THERESCUE  123 

thought  he.  But  his  mind  did  not  dwell  on  this  phase 
of  the  disaster.  Still  he  was  hoping,  against  hope,  that 
human  life  had  not  been  dashed  and  roasted  out,  in  the 
wreck.  And  again  he  shouted,  as  he  worked  his  way  to 
the  other  side  of  the  machine — to  the  side  which,  seen 
from  the  cliff  above,  had  seemed  to  show  him  that  inert 
and  mangled  body. 

All  at  once  he  stopped  short,  shielding  his  face  with 
his  hands,  against  the  blaze. 

"Good  God!"  he  exclaimed;  and  involuntarily  took 
off  his  cap,  there  in  the  presence  of  death. 

That  the  man  was  dead,  admitted  of  no  question. 
Pinned  under  the  heavy,  glowing  mass  of  metal,  his  body 
must  already  have  been  roasted  to  a  char.  The  head 
could  not  be  seen;  but  part  of  one  shoulder  and  one  arm 
protruded,  with  the  coat  burned  off  and  the  flesh  hor 
ribly  crackled;  while,  nearer  Gabriel,  a  leg  showed,  with 
a  regulation  chauffeur's  legging,  also  burned  to  a  crisp. 

"Nothing  for  me  to  do,  here,"  said  Gabriel  aloud. 
"He's  past  all  human  help,  poor  chap.  I  don't  imagine 
there  can  be  anybody  else  in  this  wreck.  I  haven't  seen 
anybody,  and  nobody  has  answered  my  shouts.  What's 
to  be  done  next?" 

He  pondered  a  moment,  then,  looking  at  the  license 
plate  of  the  machine — its  enamel  now  half  cracked  off, 
but  the  numbers  still  legible — drew  out  his  note-book 
and  pencil  and  made  a  memo  of  the  figures. 

"Four-six-two-two,  N.  Y.,"  he  read,  again  verifying 
his  numbers.  "That  will  identify  things.  And  now — 
the  quicker  I  get  back  on  the  road  again,  and  reach  a 
telephone  at  West  Point,  the  better. 


124  THE    AIR    TRUST 

Accordingly,  after  a  brief  search  through  the  bushes 
near  at  hand,  for  any  other  victim — a  search  which 
brought  no  results — he  set  to  work  once  more  to  climb  the 
cliff  above  him. 

The  fire,  though  still  raging,  was  obviously  dying  down. 
In  half  an  hour,  he  knew,  it  would  be  dead.  There  was 
no  use  in  trying  to  extinguish  it,  for  gasoline  defies  water, 
and  no  sand  was  to  be  had  along  that  rocky  river  shore. 

"Let  her  burn  herself  out,"  judged  Gabriel.  "She 
can't  do  any  harm,  now.  The  road  for  mine!" 

He  found  the  upward  path  infinitely  more  difficult  than 
the  downward,  and  was  forced  to  make  a  long  detour 
and  do  some  hard  climbing  that  left  him  spent  and  sweat 
ing,  before  he  again  approached  the  gap  in  the  wall. 
Pausing  here  to  breathe,  a  minute  or  two,  he  once  more 
peered  down  at  the  still-smoking  ruin  far  below.  And, 
as  he  stood  there  all  at  once  he  thought  he  heard  a  sound 
not  very  far  away  to  his  right. 

A  sound — a  groan,  a  half-inchoate  murmur — a  cry ! 

Instantly  his  every  sense  grew  keen.  Holding  his 
breath  he  listened  intently.  Was  it  a  cry?  Or  had  the 
breeze  but  swayed  one  tree  limb  against  another;  or  did 
some  boatman's  hail,  from  far  across  the  river,  but  drift 
upward  to  him  on  the  cliff? 

"Hello!  Hello r  he  shouted  again.     "Anybody  there?" 

Once  more  he  listened;  and  now,  once  more,  he  heard 
the  sound — this  time  he  knew  it  was  a  cry  for  help ! 

"Where  are  you?"  shouted  he,  plunging  forward  along 
the  steep  side  of  the  cliff.  "Where?" 

No  answer,  save  a  groan. 

"Coming!    Coming!"  he  hailed  loudly.    Then,  guided 


THERESCUE  125 

as  it  seemed  by  instinct,  almost  as  much  as  by  the  vague 
direction  of  the  moaning  call,  he  ploughed  his  way 
through  brush  and  briar,  on  rescue  bent. 

All  at  once  he  stopped  short  in  his  tracks,  wild-eyed,  a 
stammering  exclamation  on  his  lips. 

"A  woman!"  he  cried. 

True.  There,  lying  as  though  violently  flung,  a  woman 
was  half-crouched,  half-prone  behind  the  roots  of  a  huge 
maple  that  leaned  out  far  above  a  sheer  declivity. 

He  saw  torn  clothing,  through  the  foliage;  a  white 
hand,  out-stretched  and  bleeding;  a  mass  of  golden-cop 
pery  hair  that  lay  dishevelled  on  the  bed  of  moss  and  last 
autumn's  leaves. 

"A  woman!  Dying?"  he  thought,  with  a  sudden  stab 
of  pity  in  his  heart. 

Then,  forcing  his  way  along,  he  reached  her,  and  fell 
upon  his  knees  at  her  side. 

"Not  dead!  Not  dying!  Thank  God!"  he  exclaimed. 
One  glance  showed  him  she  would  live.  Though  an  ugly 
gash  upon  her  forehead  had  bathed  her  face  in  blood,  and 
though  he  knew  not  but  bones  were  broken,  he  recognized 
the  fact  that  she  was  now  returning,  fast,  to  conscious 
ness. 

Already  she  had  opened  her  eyes — wild  eyes,  under 
standing  nothing — and  was  staring  up  at  him  in  dazed, 
blank  terror.  Then  one  hand  came  up  to  her  face;  and, 
even  as  he  lifted  her  in  both  his  powerful  arms,  she  began 
to  sob  hysterically. 

He  knew  the  value  of  that  weeping,  and  made  no  at 
tempt  to  stop  it.  The  overwrought  nerves,  he  under 
stood,  must  find  some  outlet.  Asking  no  question,  speak- 


126  THE    AIR    TRUST 

ing  no  word — for  Gabriel  was  a  man  of  action,  not  speech 
— he  gathered  her  up  as  though  she  had  been  a  child. 
A  tall  woman,  she;  almost  as  tall  as  he  himself,  and  pro 
portioned  like  a  Venus.  Yet  to  him  her  weight  was 
nothing. 

Sure-footed,  now,  and  bursting  through  the  brambles 
with  fine  energy,  he  carried  her  to  the  gap  in  the  wall,  up 
through  it,  and  so  to  the  roadway  itself. 

"Where — where  am  I?"  the  woman  cried  incoherently. 
"O— what— where—  ?" 

"You're  all  right!"  he  exclaimed.  "Just  a  little  acci 
dent,  that's  all.  Don't  worry !  I'll  take  care  of  you.  Just 
keep  quiet,  now,  and  don't  think  of  anything.  You'll  be 
all  right,  in  no  time!" 

But  she  still  wept  and  cried  out  to  know  where  she 
might  be  and  what  had  happened.  Obviously,  Gabriel 
saw,  her  reason  had  not  yet  fully  returned.  His  first  aim 
must  be  to  bathe  her  wound,  find  out  what  damage  had 
been  done,  and  keeping  her  quiet,  try  to  get  help. 

Swiftly  he  thought.  Here  he  and  the  woman  were, 
miles  from  any  settlement  or  house,  nearly  in  the  middle 
of  a  long  stretch  of  road  that  skirted  the  river  through 
dense  woods.  At  any  time  a  motor  might  come  along; 
and  then  again,  one  might  not  arrive  for  hours.  No 
dependence  could  be  put  on  this.  There  was  no  telephone 
for  a  long  distance  back;  and  even  had  one  been  near 
he  would  not  have  ventured  to  leave  the  girl. 

Could  he  carry  her  back  to  Fort  Clinton,  the  last  set 
tlement  he  had  passed  through?  Impossible!  No  man's 
strength  could  stand  such  a  tremendous  task.  And  even 
had  it  been  within  Gabriel's  means,  he  would  have  chosen 


THE     RESCUE  127 

otherwise.  For  most  of  all  the  girl  needed  rest  and  quiet 
and  immediate  care.  To  bear  her  all  that  distance  in  his 
arms  might  produce  serious,  even  fatal  results. 

"No!"  he  decided.  "I  must  do  what  I  can  for  her., 
here  and  now,  and  trust  to  luck  to  send  help  in  an  auto, 
down  this  road!" 

His  next  thought  was  that  bandages  and  wraps  would 
be  needed  for  her  cut  and  to  make  her  a  bed.  Instantly 
he  remembered  the  shawl  and  the  big  auto-robe  that  he 
had  seen  caught  among  the  trees. 

"I  must  have  those  at  once!"  he  realized.  "When  the 
machine  went  over  the  edge,  they  were  thrown  out,  just 
as  the  girl  was.  A  miracle  she  wasn't  carried  down,  with 
the  car,  and  crushed  or  burned  to  death  down  there  by 
the  river,  with  that  poor  devil  of  a  chauffeur!" 

Laying  her  down  in  the  soft  grass  along  the  wall,  he 
ran  back  to  where  the  wraps  were,  and,  detaching  them 
from  the  branches,  quickly  regained  the  road  once  more. 

"Now  for  the  old  sugar-house  in  the  maple-grove." 
said  he.  "Poor  shelter,  but  the  best  to  be  had.  Thank 
heaven  it's  fair  weather,  and  warm !" 

The  task  was  awkward,  to  carry  both  the  girl  and  the 
bulky  robes,  but  Gabriel  was  equal  to  it  She  had  by 
now  regained  some  measure  of  rationality;  and  though 
very  pale  and  shaken,  manifested  her  nerve  and  courage 
by  no  longer  weeping  or  asking  questions. 

Instead,  she  lay  in  his  arms,  eyes  closed,  with  the  blood 
stiffening  on  her  face:  and  let  him  bear  her  whither  he 
would.  She  seemed  to  sense  his  strength  and  mastery,  his 
tender  care  and  complete  command  of  the  situation.  And, 
like  a  hurt  and  tired  child,  outworn  and  suffering,  she 
yielded  herself,  unquestioningly,  to  his  ministrations. 


128  THE    AIR    TRUST 

Thus  Gabriel,  the  discharged,  blacklisted,  outcast  rebel 
and  proletarian,  bore  in  his  arms  of  mercy  and  compas 
sion  the  only  daughter  of  old  Isaac  Flint,  his  enemy, 
Flint  the  would-be  master  of  the  world. 

Thus  he  bore  the  woman  who  had  been  betrothed  to 
"Tiger"  Waldron,  unscrupulous  and  cruel  partner  in  that 
scheme  of  dominance  and  enslavement. 

Such  was  the  meeting  of  this  woman  and  this  man. 
Thus,  in  his  arms,  he  carried  her  to  the  old  sugar-house. 

And  far  below,  the  mighty  river  gleamed,  unheed 
ing  the  tragedy  that  had  been  enacted  on  its  shores,  un 
mindful  of  the  threads  of  destiny  even  now  being  spun 
by  the  swift  shuttles  of  Fate. 

In  the  branches,  above  Gabriel  and  Catherine,  birdsong 
and  golden  sunlight  seemed  to  prophesy.  But  what  this 
message  might  be,  neither  the  woman  nor  the  man  had 
any  thought  or  dream. 


CHAPTER  XV. 
AN  HOUR  AND  A  PARTING. 

HRRIVING  at  the  sugar-house,  tired  yet  strong,  Gab 
riel  put  the  wounded  girl  down,  quickly  raked  to 
gether  a  few  armfuls  of  dead  leaves,  in  the  most  sheltered 
corner  of  the  ramshackle  structure,  and  laid  the  heavy 
auto-robe  upon  this  improvised  bed.  Then  he  helped  his 
patient  to  lie  down,  there,  and  bade  her  wait  till  he  got 
water  to  wash  and  dress  her  cut. 

"Don't  worry  about  anything,"  he  reassured  her. 
"You're  alive,  and  that's  the  main  thing,  now.  I'll  see 
you  through  with  this,  whatever  happens.  Just  keep 
calm,  and  don't  let  anything  distress  you!" 

She  looked  at  him  with  big,  anxious  eyes — eyes  where 
still  the  full  light  of  understanding  had  not  yet  returned. 

"It — it  all  happened  so  suddenly!"  she  managed  to  ar 
ticulate.  "He  was  drunk — the  chauffeur.  The  car  ran 
away.  Where  is  it?  Where  is  Herrick — the  man?" 

"I  don't  know,"  Gabriel  lied  promptly  and  with  force. 
Not  for  worlds  would  he  have  excited  her  writh  the  truth. 
"Never  you  mind  about  that.  Just  lie  still,  now,  till  I 
come  back!" 

Already,  among  the  rusty  utensils  that  had  served  for 
the  "sugaring-off,"  the  previous  spring,  he  had  routed 
out  a  tin  pail.  He  kicked  a  quantity  of  leaves  in  under 
the  sheet-iron  open  stove,  flung  some  sticks  atop  of  them, 
and  started  a  little  blaze.  Warm  water,  he  reflected, 


130  THE     AIR     TRUST 

would  serve  better  than  cold  in  removing  that  clotting 
blood  and  dressing  the  hurt. 

Then,  saying  no  further  word,  but  filled  with  admira 
tion  for  the  girl's  pluck,  he  seized  the  pail  and  started 
for  water. 

"Nerve?"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  ran  down  the  road 
toward  a  little  brook  he  remembered  having  crossed,  a 
few  hundred  yards  to  southward.  "Nerve,  indeed !  Not 
one  complaint  about  her  own  injuries!  Not  a  word  of 
lamentation!  If  this  isn't  a  thoroughbred,  whoever  or 
whatever  she  is,  I  never  saw  one !" 

He  returned,  presently,  with  the  pail  nearly  full  of  cold 
and  sparkling  water.  Ignoring  rust,  he  made  her  drink  as 
deeply  as  she  would,  and  then  set  a  dipperful  of  water 
on  the  now  hot  sheet-iron. 

'Then,  tearing  a  strip  off  the  shawl,  he  made  ready  for 
his  work  as  an  amateur  physician. 

"Tell  me,"  said  he,  kneeling  there  beside  her  in  the 
hut  which  was  already  beginning  to  grow  dusk,  "except 
for  this  cut  on  your  forehead,  do  you  feel  any  injury? 
Think  you've  got  any  broken  bones?  See  if  you  can 
move  your  legs  and  arms,  all  right." 

She  obeyed. 

"Nothing  broken,  I  guess,"  she  answered.  "What  a 
miracle!  Please  leave  me,  now.  I  can  wash  my  own 
hurt.  Go — go  find  Herrick!  He  needs  you  worse  than 
I  do!" 

"No  he  doesn't!"  blurted  Gabriel  with  such  conviction 
that  she  understood. 

"You  mean?"  she  queried,  as  he  brought  the  dipper  of 
now  tepid  water  to  her  side.  "He — he's  dead?" 


AN  HOUR  AND  A  PARTING  131 

He  hesitated  to  answer. 

"Dead !  Yes,  I  understand !"  she  interpreted  his  silence. 
"You  needn't  tell  me.  I  know!" 

He  nodded. 

"Yes,"  said  he.  "Your  chauffeur  has  paid  the  penalty 
of  trying  to  drive  a  six-cylinder  car  with  alcohol.  Now, 
think  no  more  of  him !  Here,  let  me  see  how  badly  you're 
cut." 

"Let  me  sit  up,  first,"  she  begged.  "I — I'm  not  hurt 
enough  to  be  lying  here  like — like  an  invalid!" 

She  tried  to  rise,  but  with  a  strong  hand  on  her  shoul 
der  he  forced  her  back.  She  shuddered,  with  the  horror 
of  the  chauffeur's  death  strong  upon  her. 

"Please  lie  still,"  he  begged.  "You've  had  a  terrific 
shock,  and  have  lived  through  it  by  a  miracle,  indeed. 
You're  wounded  and  still  bleeding.  You  must  be  quiet !" 

The  tone  in  his  voice  admitted  no  argument.  Submis 
sive  now  to  his  greater  strength,  this  daughter  of  wealth 
and  power  lay  back,  closed  her  tired  eyes  and  let  the 
revolutionist,  the  proletarian,  minister  to  her. 

Dipping  the  piece  of  shawrl  into  the  warm  wrater,  he 
deftly  moistened  the  dried  blood  on  her  brow  and  cheek, 
and  washed  it  all  away.  He  cleansed  her  sullied  hair,  as 
well,  and  laid  it  back  from  the  wound. 

"Tell  me  if  I  hurt  you,  now,"  he  bade,  gently  as  a 
woman.  "I've  got  to  wash  the  cut  itself." 

She  answered  nothing,  but  lay  quite  still.  And  so. 
hardly  wincing,  she  let  him  lave  the  jagged  wound  that 
stretched  from  her  right  temple  up  into  the  first  tendrils 
of  the  glorious  red-gold  hair. 

"H'm!"  thought  Gabriel,  as  he  now  observed  the  cut 


132  THE     AIR     TRUST 

with  close  attention.  "I'm  afraid  there'll  have  to  be  some 
stitches  taken  here!"  But  of  this  he  said  nothing.  All 
he  told  her  was :  "Nothing  to  worry  over.  You'll  be  as 
good  as  new  in  a  few  days.  As  a  miracle,  it's  some 
miracle!" 

Having  completed  the  cleansing  of  the  cut,  he  fetched 
his  knapsack  and  produced  a  clean  handkerchief,  which 
he  folded  and  laid  over  the  wound.  This  pad  he  secured 
in  place  by  a  long  bandage  cut  from  the  edge  of  the  shawl 
and  tied  securely  round  her  shapely  head. 

"There,"  said  he,  surveying  his  improvisation  with 
considerable  satisfaction.  "Now  you'll  do,  till  we  can 
undertake  the  next  thing.  Sorry  I  haven't  any  brandy 
to  give  you,  or  anything  of  that  sort.  The  fact  is,  I 
don't  use  it,  and  have  none  with  me.  How  do  you  feel, 
now  ?" 

She  opened  her  eyes  and  looked  up  at  him  with  the 
ghost  of  a  smile  on  her  pale  lips. 

"Oh,  much,  much  better,  thank  you!"  she  answered. 
"I  don't  need  any  brandy.  I'm — awfully  strong,  really. 
In  a  little  while  I'll  be  all  right.  Just  give  me  a  little 
more  water,  and — and  tell  me — who  are  you?" 

"Who  am  I?"  he  queried,  holding  up  her  head  while 
she  drank  from  the  tin  cup  he  had  now  taken  from  his 
knapsack.  "I?  Oh,  just  an  out-of-work.  Nobody  of 
any  interest  to  you!" 

A  certain  tinge  of  bitterness  crept  into  his  voice.  In 
health,  he  knew,  a  woman  of  this  class  would  not  suffer 
him  even  to  touch  her  hand. 

"Don't  ask  me  who  I  am,  please.  And  I — I  won't  ask 
your  name.  We're  of  different  worlds,  I  guess.  But  for 


AN  HOUR  AND  A  PARTING  133 

the  moment,  Fate  has  levelled  the  barriers.  Just  let  it  go 
at  that.  And  now,  if  you  can  stay  here,  all  right;  per 
haps  I  can  hike  back  to  the  next  house,  below  here,  and 
telephone,  and  summon  help." 

"How  far  is  it?"  she  asked,  looking  at  him  with  won 
der  in  her  lovely  eyes — wonder,  and  new  thoughts,  and  a 
strange  kind  of  longing  to  know  more  of  this  extraordi 
nary  man,  so  strong,  so  gentle,  so  unwilling  to  divulge 
himself  or  ask  her  name. 

"How  far?"  he  repeated.  "Oh,  four  or  five  miles.  I 
can  make  it  in  no  time.  And  with  luck,  I  can  have  an 
auto  and  a  doctor  here  before  dark.  Well,  does  that 
suit  you?" 

"Don't  go,  please,"  she  answered.  "I — I  may  be  still 
a  little  weak  and  foolish,  but — somehow,  I  don't  want  to 
be  left  alone.  I  want  to  be  kept  from  remembering, 
from  thinking  of  those  last,  awTful  moments  when  the 
car  was  running  away;  when  it  struck  the  wall,  at  the 
turn;  when  I  was  thrown  out,  and — and  knew  no  more. 
Don't  go  just  yet,"  the  girl  entreated,  covering  her  eyes 
with  both  hands,  as  though  to  shut  out  the  horrible  vision 
of  the  catastrophe. 

"All  right,"  Gabriel  answered.  "Just  as  you  please. 
Only,  if  I  stay,  you  must  promise  to  stop  thinking  about 
the  accident,  and  try  to  pull  together." 

"I  promise."  she  agreed,  looking  at  him  with  strange 
eyes.  "Oh  dear,"  she  added,  with  feminine  inconsequen- 
tiality,  "my  hair's  all  down,  and  Lord  knows  where  the 
pins  are!" 

He  smiled  to  himself  as  she  managed,  with  the  aid 
of  such  few  hairpins  as  remained,  to  coil  the  coppery 


134  THE     AIR     TRUST 

meshes  once  more  round  her  head  and  even  somewhat 
over  the  bandage,  and  secure  them  in  place. 

At  sight  of  his  face  as  he  watched  her,  she  too  smiled 
wanly — the  first  time  he  had  seen  a  real  smile  on  her 
mouth. 

"I'm  only  a  woman,  after  all,"  she  apologized.  "You 
don't  understand.  You  can't.  But  no  matter.  Tell  me 
— why  need  you  go,  at  all  ?" 

"Why?     For  help,  of  course." 

"There's  sure  to  be  a  motor,  or  something,  along  this 
road,  before  very  long,"  she  answered.  "Put  up  some 
signal  or  other,  to  stop  it.  That  will  save  you  a  long, 
long  walk,  and  save  me  from — remembering !  I  need  you 
here  with  me,"  she  added  earnestly.  "Don't  go — please !" 

"All  right,  as  you  will,"  the  man  made  reply.  "I'll 
rig  a  danger-signal  on  the  road;  and  then  all  we  can  do 
will  be  to  wait," 

This  plan  he  immediately  put  into  effect,  setting  his 
knapsack  in  the  middle  of  the  road  and  piling  up  brush 
and  limbs  of  trees  about  it. 

"There,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  surveyed  the  re 
sult,  "no  car  will  get  by  that,  without  noticing  it !" 

Then  he  returned  to  the  sugar-house,  some  hundred 
yards  back  from  the  highway  in  the  grove,  now  already 
beginning  to  grow  dim  with  the  shadows  of  approach 
ing  nightfall.  The  glowing  coals  of  the  fire  gleamed 
redly,  through  the  rough  place.  The  girl,  still  lying  on 
her  bed  of  leaves  and  auto-robes,  with  the  mutilated 
shawl  drawn  over  her,  looked  up  at  him  with  an  expres 
sion  of  trust  and  gratitude.  For  a  second,  only  one,  some 
thing  quick  and  vital  gripped  at  the  wanderer's  heart — 


AN  HOUR  AND  A  PARTING  135 

some  vague,  intangible  longing  for  a  home  and  a  woman, 
a  longing  old  as  our  race,  deep-planted  in  the  inmost  cita 
del  of  every  man's  soul.  But,  half-impatiently,  he  drove 
the  thought  away,  dismissed  it,  and,  smiling  down  at  her 
with  cheerful  eyes  and  w?hite,  even  teeth,  said  reassur 
ingly  : 

"Everything's  all  right  now.  The  first  machine  that 
passes,  will  take  you  to  civilization." 

"And  you?"  she  asked.     "What  of  you,  then?" 

"Me?  Oh,  I'll  hike,"  he  answered.  I'll  plug  along 
just  as  I  was  doing  when  I  found  you." 

"Where  to?" 

"Oh,  north." 

"What  for?" 

"Work.  Please  don't  question  me.  I'd  rather  you 
wouldn't." 

She  pondered  a  moment. 

"Are  you — what  they  call  a — workingman?"  she  pres 
ently  resumed. 

"Yes,"  said  he.     "Why?" 

"And  are  you  happy?" 

"Yes.  In  a  way.  Or  shall  be,  when  I've  done  what  I 
mean  to  do." 

"But — forgive  me — you're  very  poor?" 

"Not  at  all !  I  have,  at  this  present  moment,  more  than 
eighteen  dollars  in  my  pocket,  and  I  have  these!" 

He  showed  her  his  two  hands,  big  and  sinewed,  cap 
able  and  strong. 

"Eighteen  dollars,"  she  mused,  half  to  herself.  "Why, 
I  have  spent  that,  and  more,  for  a  single  ounce  of  a  new 
perfume — something  very  rare,  you  know,  from  Japan." 


136  THE    AIR     TRUST 

"Indeed?  Well,  don't  tell  me,"  he  replied.  "I'm  not 
interested  in  how  you  spend  money,  but  how  you  get  it." 

"Get  it?  Oh,  father  gives  me  my  allowance,  that's 
all." 

"And  he  squeezes  it  out  of  the  common  people?" 

She  glanced  at  him  quickly. 

"You — you  aren't  a  Socialist,  into  the  bargain,  are 
you?"  she  inquired. 

"At  your  service,"  he  bowed. 

"This  is  strange,  strange  indeed,"  she  said.  "Tell  me 
your  name." 

"No,"  he  refused.  "I'd  still  rather  not.  Nor  shall  I 
ask  yours.  Please  don't  volunteer  it." 

Came  a  moment's  silence,  there  in  the  darkening  hut, 
with  the  fire-glow  red  upon  their  faces. 

"Happy,"  said  the  girl.  "You  say  you're  happy. 
While  I " 

"Are  not  unhappy,  surely?"  asked  Gabriel,  leaning  for 
ward  as  he  sat  there  beside  her,  and  gazing  keenly  into 
her  face. 

"How  should  I  know?"  she  answered.  "Unhappy? 
No,  perhaps  not.  But  vacant — empty — futile !" 

"Yes,  I  believe  you,"  Gabriel  judged.  "You  tell  me  no 
news.  And  as  you  are,  you  will  ever  be.  You  will  live 
so  and  die  so.  No,  I  won't  preach.  I  won't  proselytize. 
I  won't  even  explain.  It  would  be  useless.  You  are  one 
pole,  I  the  other.  And  the  world — the  whole  wide  world 
— lies  between!" 

Suddenly  she  spoke. 

"You're  a  Socialist,"  said  she.  "What  does  it  mean  to 
be  a  Socialist?" 


AN  HOUR  AND  A  PARTING  137 

He  shook  his  head. 

"You  couldn't  understand,  if  I  told  you,"  he  answered. 

"Why  not?" 

"Oh,  because  your  ideas  and  environments  and  inter 
ests  and  everything  have  been  so  different  from  mine — 
because  you're  what  you  are — because  you  can  never  be 
anything  else." 

"You  mean  Socialism  is  something  beyond  my  under 
standing  ?"  she  demanded,  piqued.  "Of  course,  that's 
nonsense.  I'm  a  human  being.  I've  got  brains,  haven't 
I?  I  can  understand  a  scheme  of  dividing  up,  or  level 
ling  down,  or  whatever  it  is,  even  if  I  can't  believe  in  it!" 

He  smiled  oddly. 

"You've  just  proved,  by  what  you've  said,"  he  an 
swered  slowly,  "that  your  whole  concepts  are  mistaken 
Socialism  isn't  anything  like  what  you  think  it  is,  and 
if  I  should  try  to  explain  it,  you'd  raise  ten  thousand  fu 
tile  objections,  and  beg  the  question,  and  defeat  my  ob 
ject  of  explanation  by  your  very  inability  to  get  the  point 
of  view.  So  you  see " 

"I  see  that  I  want  to  know  more !"  she  exclaimed,  with 
determination.  "If  there's  any  branch  of  human  knowl 
edge  that  lies  outside  my  reasoning  powers,  it's  time  I 
found  that  fact  out.  I  thought  Socialists  were  wild, 
crazy,  erratic  cranks;  but  if  you're  one,  then  I  seem  to 
have  been  wrong.  You  look  rational  enough,  and  you 
talk  in  an  eminently  sane  manner." 

"Thank  you,"  he  replied,  ironically. 

"Don't  be  sarcastic !"  she  retorted.    "I  only  meant " 

"It's  all  right,  anyhow,"  said  he.  "You've  simply  got 
the  old,  stupid,  wornout  ideas  of  your  class.  You  can't 
grasp  this  new  ideal,  rising  through  the  ruck  and  waste 


138  THE    AIR    TRUST 

and  sin  and  misery  of  the  present  system.  I  don't  blame 
you.  You're  a  product  of  your  environment.  You  can't 
help  it.  With  that  environment,  how  can  you  sense  the 
newer  and  more  vital  ideas  of  the  day?" 

For  a  moment  she  fixed  eager  eyes  on  him,  in  silence. 
Then  asked  she : 

"Ideals?  You  mean  that  Socialism  has  ideals,  and 
that  it's  not  all  a  matter  of  tearing  down  and  dividing 
up,  and  destroying  everything  good  and  noble  and  right 
— all  the  accumulated  wisdom  and  resources  of  the 
world?" 

He  laughed  heartily. 

"Who  handed  you  that  bunk?"  he  demanded. 

"Father  told  me  Socialism  was  all  that,  and  more," 

"What's  your  father's  business?" 

"Why,  investments,  stocks,  bonds,  industrial  develop 
ment  and  all  that  sort  of  thing." 

"Hm!"  he  grunted.     "I  thought  as  much!" 

"You  mean  that  father  misinformed  me?" 

"Rather!" 

"Well,  if  he  did,  what  is  Socialism?" 

"Socialism,"  answered  the  young  man  slowly,  while 
he  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  smouldering  fire,  "Socialism  is 
a  political  movement,  a  concept  of  life,  a  philosophy,  an 
interpretation,  a  prophecy,  an  ideal.  It  embraces  history, 
economics,  science,  art,  religion,  literature  and  every 
phase  of  human  activity.  It  explains  life,  points  the  way 
to  better  things,  gives  us  hope,  strengthens  the  weary  and 
heavy-laden,  bids  us  look  upward  and  onward,  and  con 
stitutes  the  most  sublime  ideal  ever  conceived  by  the  soul 
of  man !" 

"Can  this  be  true?"  the  girl  demanded,  astonished. 


AN  HOUR  AND  A  PARTING  139 

"Not  only  can,  but  is !  Socialism  would  free  the  world 
from  slavery  and  slaves,  from  war,  poverty,  prostitution, 
vice  and  crime;  would  cleanse  the  sores  of  our  rotting 
capitalism,  would  loose  the  gyves  from  the  fettered 
hands  of  mankind,  would  bid  the  imprisoned  soul  of  man 
awake  to  nobler  and  to  purer  things!  How?  The  an 
swer  to  that  would  take  me  weeks.  You  would  have  to 
read  and  study  many  books,  to  learn  the  entire  truth. 
But  I  am  telling  you  the  substance  of  the  ideal — a  realiz 
able  ideal,  and  no  chimera — when  I  say  that  Socialism 
sums  up  all  that  is  good,  and  banishes  all  that  is  evil! 
And  do  you  wonder  that  I  love  and  serve  it,  all  my  life?" 

She  peered  at  him  in  wonder. 

"You  serve  it?    How?"  she  demanded. 

"By  spreading  it  abroad;  by  speaking  for  it,  work 
ing  for  it,  fighting  for  it !  By  the  spoken  and  the  printed 
word!  By  every  act  and  through  every  means  whereby 
I  can  bring  it  nearer  and  nearer  realization !" 

"You're  a  dreamer,  a  visionary,  a  fanatic!"  she  ex 
claimed. 

"You  think  so?  No,  I  can't  agree.  Time  will  judge 
that  matter.  Meanwhile,  I  travel  up  and  down  the 
earth,  spreading  Socialism." 

"And  what  do  you  get  out  of  it,  personally?" 

"I?  What  do  you  mean?  I  never  thought  of  that 
question." 

"I  mean,  money.    What  do  you  make  out  of  it?" 

He  laughed  heartily. 

"I  get  a  few  jail-sentences,  once  in  a  while;  now  and 
then  a  crack  over  the  head  with  a  policeman's  billy,  or 
maybe  a  peek  down  the  muzzle  of  a  rifle.  I  get " 

"You  mean  that  you're  a  martyr?" 


140  THE    AIR    TRUST 

"By  no  means !  I've  never  even  thought  of  being  called 
such.  This  is  a  privilege,  this  propaganda  of  ours.  It's 
the  greatest  privilege  in  the  world — bringing  the  word  of 
life  and  hope  and  joy  to  a  crushed,  bleeding  and  despair 
ing  world !" 

She  thought  a  moment,  in  silence. 

"You're  a  poet,  I  believe!"  said  she. 

"No,  not  that.     Only  a  worker  in  the  ranks." 

"But  do  you  write  poetry?" 

"I  write  verses.    You'd  hardly  call  them  poetry !" 

"Verses?    About  Socialism?" 

"Sometimes." 

"Will  you  give  me  some?" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Tell  me  some  of  them." 

"Of  course  not !  I  can't  recite  my  verses!  They  aren't 
worth  bothering  you  with !" 

"That's  for  me  to  judge.  Let  me  hear  something  of 
that  kind.  If  you  only  knew  how  terribly  much  you  in 
terest  me !" 

"You  mean  that?" 

"Of  course  I  do !  Please  let  me  hear  something  you've 
written !" 

He  pondered  a  moment,  then  in  his  well-modulated, 
deep-toned  voice  began : 

HESPERIDES. 
L 

r 

My  feet,  used  to  pine-needles,  moss  and  turf, 
And  the  gray  boulders  at  the  lip  o'  the  sea, 
Where  the  cold  brine  jets  up  its  creamy  surf, 


AN  HOUR  AND  A  PARTING  141 

Now  tread  once  more  these  city  ways,  unloved  by  me, 

Hateful  and  hot,  gross  with  iniquity. 

And  so  I  grieve, 

Grieve  w'hen  I  zvake,  or  at  high  blinding  noon 

Or  when  the  moon 

Mocks  this  sad  Ninevah  where  the  throngs  weave 

Their  jostling  ways  by  day,  their  paths  by  night; 

Where  darkness  is  not  —  wJiere  the  streets  burn  bright 

With  hectic  fevers,  eloquent  of  death! 

I  gasp  for  breath     .... 

Visions  have  I,  visions!    So  sweet  they  seem 

That  from  this  welter  of  men  and  things  I  turn,  to  dream 

Of  the  dim  Wood-world,  calling  out  to  me. 

Where  forest-virgins  I  half  glimpse,  lialf  see 

With  cool  mysterious  fingers  beckoning! 

Where  vine-wreathed  woodland  altars  sunlit  burn, 

Or  Dryads  dance  their  mystic  rounds  and  sing, 

Sing  high,  sing  lorn,  with  magic  cadences 

That  once  the  wild  oaks  of  Dodona  heard; 

And  every  wood-note  bids  me  burst  asunder 

The  bonds  that  hold  me  from  the  leaf-hid  bird. 

I  quaff  thee,  O  Nepenthe!    Ah,  the  wonder 

Grows,  that  there  be  who  buy  their  wealth,  their  ease 

By  damning  serfs  to  cities,  hot  and  blurred, 

Far  from  thy  golden  quest,  Hesperides!     .     .     . 


/  see  this  August  sun  again 

Sheer  up  high  heaven  ivheel  his  angry  way; 

And  hordes  of  men 

Bleared  ivith  unrestful  sleep  rise  up  another  day, 


142  THE     AIR     TRUST 

Their  bodies  racked  with  aftermaths  of  toil. 

Over  the  city,  in  each  gasping  street, 

Shudders  a  haze  of  heat, 

Reverberant  from  pillar,  span  and  plinth. 

Once  more,  cribbed  in  this  monstrous  labyrinth 

Sacrificed  to  the  Minotaur  of  Greed 

Men  bear  the  turmoil,  glare,  sweat,  brute  inharmonies; 

Denial  of  each  simplest  human  need, 

Loss  of  life's  meaning  as  day  lags  on  day; 

And  my  rebellious  spirit  rises,  flies 

In  dreams  to  the  green  quiet  wood  away, 

Away!    Away! 


III. 


And  now,  and  now    .    .    .    I  feel  the  forest-moss 

Come!    On  these  moss-beds  let  me  lie  with  Pan, 

Twined  with  the  ivy-vine  in  tendrill'd  curls, 

And  I  will  hold  all  gold,  that  hampers  man, 

Only  the  ashes  of  base,  barren  dross! 

On  with  the  love-dance  of  the  pagan  girls! 

The  pagan  girls  with  lips  all  rosy-red, 

With  breasts  upgirt  and  foreheads  garlanded, 

With  fair  white  foreheads  nobly  garlanded! 

With  sandalled  feet  that  weave  the  magic  ring! 

Now          .     .     let  them  sing, 

And  I  will  pipe  a  tune  that  all  may  hear, 

To  bid  them  mind  the  time  of  my  wild  rhyme; 

To  warn  profaning  feet  lest  they  draw  near. 

Away  I    Away!    Beware  these  mystic  trees! 

Who  dares  to  quest  you  now,  Hesperides? 


AN  HOUR  AND  A  PARTING  143 

IV. 

Great  men  of  song,  what  sing  ye?    Woodland  meadows? 

Rocks,  trees  and  rills  where  sunlight  glints  to  gold? 

Sing  ye  the  hills,  adown  whose  sides  blue  shadows 

Creep  when  the  ^v  ester  ing  day  is  growing  old? 

Sing  ye  the  brooks  where  in  the  purling  shallows 

The  small  fish  dart  and  gleam? 

Sing  ye  the  pale  green  tresses  of  the  willows 

That  stoop  to  kiss  the  stream? 

Or  sing  ye  burning  streets,  foul  with  the  breath 

Of  sweatshop,  tenement,  where  endlessly 

Spaimed  swarms  of  folk  serve  tyrant  masters  twain — 

Profit,  and  his  twin-brotJier,  grinning  Death? 

Where  millions  toil,  hedged  off  from  aught  save  pain? 

Far  from  thee  ever,  0  mine  Arcady?     .     .     . 

His  voice  ceased  and  silence  fell  between  the  man  and 
woman  in  the  old  sugar-house.  Gabriel  sat  there  by  the 
dying  fire,  which  cast  its  ruddy  light  over  his  strongly 
virile  face,  and  gazed  into  the  coals.  The  girl,  lying  on 
the  rude  bed,  her  face  eager,  her  slim  strong  hands  tightly 
clasped,  had  almost  forgotten  to  breathe. 

At  last  she  spoke. 

"That — that  is  wonderful !"  she  cried,  a  tremor  of  en 
thusiasm  in  her  voice. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"No  compliments,  please,"  said  he. 

"I'm  not  complimenting  you !  I  think  it  is  wonderful. 
You're  a  true  poet !" 

"I  wish  I  were — so  I  might  use  it  all  for  Socialism!" 

"You  could  make  a  fortune,  if  you'd  work  for  some 


144  THE    AIR    TRUST 

paper  or  magazine — some  regular  one,  I  mean,  not  So 
cialist." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"Dead  sea  fruit,"  he  answered.  "Fairy  gold,  fading 
in  the  clutch,  worthless  through  and  through.  No,  if 
my  work  has  any  merit,  it's  all  for  Socialism,  now  and 
ever!" 

Silence  again.  Neither  now  found  a  word  to  say,  but 
their  eyes  met  and  read  each  other;  and  a  kind  oi  solemn 
hush  seemed  to  lie  over  their  hearts. 

Then,  as  they  sat  there,  looking  each  at  each — for  now 
the  girl  had  raised  herself  on  the  crude  bed  and  was  sup 
porting  herself  with  one  hand — a  sudden  sound  of  a 
motor,  on  the  road,  awakened  them  from  their  musing. 

Came  the  raucous  wail  of  a  siren.  Then  the  engine- 
exhaust  ceased;  and  a  voice,  raised  in  some  annoyance, 
hailed  loudly  through  the  maple-grove : 

"Hello!     Hello?    What's  wrong  here?" 

Gabriel  stepped  to  the  sugar-house  door : 

"Here!  Come  here!"  he  shouted  in  a  ringing  voice 
that  echoed  wildly  from  between  his  hollowed  palms. 

As  the  motorist  still  sat  there,  uncomprehending,  Gab 
riel  made  his  way  toward  the  road. 

"Accident  here,"  said  he.  "Girl  in  here,  injured.  Can 
you  take  her  to  the  nearest  town,  at  once?  She  needs  a 
doctor." 

Instantly  the  man  was  out  of  his  car.  and  hastening 
toward  Gabriel. 

"Eh?    What?"  he  asked.     "Anything  serious?" 

In  a  few  words,  Gabriel  told  him  the  outlines  of  the 
tale. 

"The  quicker  you  get  the  girl  to  a  town,  and  let  her 


AN  HOUR  AND  A  PARTING  145 

have  a  doctor  and  communication  with  her  family,  the 
better,"  he  concluded. 

"Right!  I'll  do  all  in  my  power,"  said  the  other,  a 
rather  stout,  well-to-do,  vulgar-looking  man. 

"Good!     This  way,  then!" 

The  man  followed  Gabriel  to  the  sugar-house.  They 
found  the  girl  already  on  her  feet,  standing  there  a  bit 
unsteadily,  but  with  determination  to  be  game,  in  every 
feature. 

Five  minutes  later  she  was  in  the  new-comer's  car, 
which  had  been  turned  around  and  now  was  headed  back 
toward  Haverstraw.  The  shawl  and  robe  serving  her 
as  wraps,  she  was  made  comfortable  in  the  tonneau. 

"Think  you  can  stand  it,  all  right?"  asked  Gabriel,  as 
he  took  in  his  the  hand  she  extended.  "In  half  an  hour, 
you'll  be  under  a  doctor's  care,  and  your  father  will  be 
on  his  way  toward  you." 

She  nodded,  and  for  a  second  tightened  the  grasp  of 
her  hand. 

"I — I'm  not  even  going  to  know  who  you  are?"  she 
asked,  a  strange  tone  in  her  voice. 

"No,"  he  answered.  "And  now,  good  luck,  and  good 
bye!" 

"Good-bye,"  she  echoed,  her  voice  almost  inaudible. 
"I — I  won't  forget  you." 

He  made  no  answer,  but  only  smiled  in  a  peculiar  way. 

Then,  as  the  car  rolled  slowly  forward,  their  hands  sepa 
rated. 

Gabriel,  bareheaded  and  with  level  gaze,  stood  there  in 
the  middle  of  the  great  highway,  looking  after  her.  A 
minute,  under  the  darkening  arches  of  the  forest  road, 


146  — *HmL   AIR     TRUST 

"^—^_ 
he  saw  her,  still.     Then  the  car  swuft^tQund  a  bend, 

and  vanished.  "v-v>^ 

Had  she  waved  her  hand  at  him?    He  could  not  teltx. 
Motionless  he  stood,  a  whfter^hen  cleared  away  the  bar 
rier  of  branches  that  obstructed  tKe~Toa4^ook  up  his 
knapsack,  and  with  slow  steps  returned  to  the  sugar-ftouse. 

Almost  on  the  threshold,  a  white  something  caught  his 
eye.  He  picked  it  up.  Her  handkerchief!  A  moment 
he  held  the  dainty,  filmy  thing  in  his  rough  hand.  A 
vague  perfume  reached  his  nostrils,  disquieting  and  se 
ductive. 

"More  than  eighteen  dollars  an  ounce,  perhaps!'*  he 
exclaimed,  with  sudden  bitterness;  but  still  he  did  not 
throw  the  handkerchief  away.  Instead,  he  looked  at  it 
more  keenly.  In  one  corner,  the  fading  light  just  showed 
him  some  initials.  He  studied  them,  a  moment. 

"C.  J.  F."  he  read.  Then,  yielding  to  a  sudden  im 
pulse,  he  folded  the  kerchief  and  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

He  entered  the  sugar-house,  to  make  sure,  before  de 
parting,  that  he  had  left  no  danger  of  fire  behind  him. 

Another  impulse  bade  him  sit  down  on  a  rough  box, 
there,  before  the  dying  embers.  He  gazed  at  the  bed 
of  leaves,  a  while,  immersed  in  thought,  then  filled  his 
pipe  and  lighted  it  with  a  glowing  brand,  and  sat  there 
— while  the  night  came — smoking  and  musing,  in  a 
reverie. 

The  overpowering  lure  of  the  woman  who  had  lain  in 
his  arms,  as  he  had  borne  her  thither;  her  breath  upon 
his  face ;  the  perfume  of  her,  even  her  blood  that  he  had 
washed  away — all  these  were  working  on  his  senses,  still. 
But  most  of  all  he  seemed  to  see  her  eyes,  there  in  the 


AN  HOUR  AND  A  PARTING  ,  147 

ember-lit  gloom,  and  hear  her  voice,  and  feel  her  lithe 
young  body  and  her  breast  against  his  breast. 

For  a  long  time  he  sat  there,  thinking,  dreaming, 
smoking,  till  the  last  shred  of  tobacco  was  burned  out 
in  the  heel  of  his  briar;  till  the  last  ember  had  winked 
and  died  under  the  old  sheet-iron  stove. 

At  last,  with  a  peculiar  laugh,  he  rose,  slung  the  knap 
sack  once  more  on  his  shoulders,  settled  his  cap  upon  his 
head,  and  made  ready  to  depart. 

But  still,  one  moment,  he  lingered  in  the  doorway. 
Lingered  and  looked  back,  as  though  in  his  mind's  eye 
he  would  have  borne  the  place  away  with  him  forever. 

Suddenly  he  stooped,  picked  up  a  leaf  from  the  bed 
where  she  had  lain,  and  put  that,  too,  in  his  pocket  where 
the  kerchief  was. 

Then,  looking  no  more  behind  him,  he  strode  off 
across  the  maple-grove,  through  which,  now,  the  first 
pale  stars  wrere  glimmering.  He  reached  the  road  again, 
swung  to  the  north,  and,  striking  into  his  long  march 
ing  stride,  pushed  onward  northward,  away  and  away 
into  the  soft  June  twilight. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 
TIGER  WALDRON  "COMES  BACK." 

OLD  ISAAC  FLINT  loved  but  two  things  in  all  this 
world — power,  and  his  daughter  Catherine. 

I  speak  advisedly  in  putting  "power"  first.  Much  as 
he  idolized  the  girl,  much  as  she  reminded  him  of  the 
long-dead  wife  of  his  youth,  he  could  have  survived  the 
loss  of  her.  The  loss  of  power  would  inevitably  have 
crushed  and  broken  him,  stunned  him,  killed  him.  Yet, 
so  far  as  human  affection  could  still  blossom  in  that  with 
ered  heart,  shrunk  by  cold  scheming  and  the  cruel  piracies 
of  many  decades,  he  loved  the  girl. 

And  so  it  was  that  when  the  message  came  in,  that 
evening,  over  the  telephone,  the  news  that  Kate  had  been 
injured  in  an  auto-accident  which  had  entirely  destroyed 
the  machine  and  killed  Herrick,  he  paled,  trembled,  and 
clutched  the  receiver,  hardly  able  to  hold  it  to  his  ear  with 
his  shaking  hand. 

"Here!  You!"  he  cried.  "She— she's  not  badly  hurt? 
She's  living?  She's  safe?  No  lies,  now!  The  truth!" 

"Your  daughter  is  very  much  alive,  and  perfectly  safe," 
a  voice  answered.  "This  is  Doctor  MacDougal,  of  Hav- 
erstraw,  speaking.  The  patient  is  now  having  a  super 
ficial  scalp  wound  dressed  by  my  assistant.  You  can 
speak  to  her,  in  a  few  minutes,  if  you  like." 

"Now!    For  God's  sake,  let  me  speak  now!"  entreated 


TIGER  WALDRON  "COMES  BACK."       149 

the  Billionaire;  but  the  doctor  refused.  Not  all  Flint's 
urging  or  bribing  would  turn  him  one  hair's  breadth. 

"No,"  he  insisted.  "In  ten  minutes  she  can  talk  to 
you.  Not  now.  But  have  no  fear,  sir.  She  is  perfectly 
safe  and — barring  her  wound,  which  will  probably  heal 
almost  without  a  scar — is  as  well  as  ever.  A  little  ner 
vous  and  unstrung,  of  course,  but  that's  to  be  expected." 

"What  happened,  and  how?"  demanded  Flint,  in  ter 
rible  agitation. 

The  doctor  briefly  gave  him  such  facts  as  he  knew, 
ending  with  the  statement  that  a  passing  automobilist  had 
brought  the  girl  to  him,  and  outlining  the  situation  of  Hie 
first-aid  measures  in  the  sugar-house.  At  the  thought 
that  Herrick,  the  drunken  cause  of  it  all,  was  dead  and 
burned,  Flint  smiled  with  real  satisfaction. 

"Damn  him!  It's  too  good  for  the  scum!"  he  mut 
tered.  Then,  aloud,  he  asked  over  the  wire : 

"And  who  was  the  rescuer?" 

"I  don't  know,"  MacDougal  answered.  "Your  daugh 
ter  didn't  tell  me.  But  from  what  I've  learned,  he  must 
have  been  a  man  of  rare  strength  and  presence  of  mind. 
It  may  well  be  that  you  OWTC  your  daughter's  life  to  his 
prompt  work." 

"I'll  find  him,  yet.  He'll  be  suitably  rewarded," 
thought  the  Billionaire.  "No  matter  what  my  enemies 
have  called  me,  I'm  not  incapable  of  gratitude!" 

Some  few  minutes  later,  having  paced  the  library  floor 
meanwhile,  in  great  excitement,  he  called  the  doctor's 
house  again  by  long-distance,  and  this  time  succeeded  in 
having  speech  with  his  daughter.  Her  voice,  though  a 
little  weak,  vastly  reassured  him.  Once  more  he  asked 


150  THE     AIR    TRUST 

for  the  outline  of  the  story.  She  told  him  all  the  essen 
tials,  and  finished  by: 

"Now,  come  and  get  me,  won't  you,  father  dear?  I 
want  to  go  home.  And  the  quicker  you  come  for  me,  the 
happier  I'll  be." 

"Bless  your  heart,  Kate!"  he  exclaimed,  deeply  moved. 
"Nothing  like  the  old  man,  after  all,  is  there?  Yes, 
I'll  start  at  once.  I've  only  been  waiting  here,  to  talk 
with  you  and  know  you're  safe.  In  five  minutes  I'll  be 
on  my  way,  with  the  racing-car.  And  if  I  don't  break  a 
few  records  between  here  and  Haverstraw,  my  name's 
not  Isaac  Flint  I" 

After  an  affectionate  good-bye,  the  old  man  hung  up, 
rang  for  Slawson,  his  private  valet,  and  ordered  the  swift 
est  car  in  his  garage  made  ready  at  once,  for  a  quick 
run. 

Two  hours  later,  Doctor  MacDougal  had  pocketed  the 
largest  fee  he  ever  had  received  or  ever  would,  again;  and 
Kate  was  safe  at  home,  in  Idle  Hour. 

On  the  homeward  journey,  Flint  learned  every  detail 
of  the  affair,  from  start  to  finish;  and  again  grimly  con 
signed  the  soul  of  the  dead  chauffeur  to  the  nethermost 
pits  of  Hell.  Yes,  he  realized,  he  must  have  the  body 
brought  in  and  decently  buried,  after  the  coroner's  ver 
dict  had  been  rendered;  but  in  his  heart  he  knew  that, 
save  for  the  eye  of  public  opinion  and  the  law,  he  would 
let  those  charred  remnants  lie  and  rot  there,  by  the  river 
bank,  under  the  twisted  wreckage  of  the  car — and  revel 
in  the  thought  of  that  last,  barbarous  revenge. 

Arrived  at  home,  Flint  routed  specialists  out  of  their 
offices,  and  at  a  large  expense  satisfied  himself  the  girl 
had  really  taken  no  serious  harm.  Next  day,  and  the 


TIGER  WALDRON  "COMES  BACK."       151 

days  following,  all  that  money  and  science  could  do  to 
make  the  gash  heal  without  a  scar,  was  done.  Waldron 
called,  greatly  unnerved  and  not  at  all  himself ;  and  Kate 
received  him  with  amicable  interest.  She  had  not  yet 
informed  her  father  of  the  rupture  between  Waldron  and 
herself,  nor  did  he  suspect  it.  As  for  "Tiger/'  he  realized 
the  time  was  inopportune  for  any  statement  of  condi 
tions,  and  held  his  peace.  But  once  she  should  be  well, 
again,  he  had  savagely  resolved  this  decision  of  hers 
should  not  stand. 

"Damn  it,  it  can't!  It  mustn't!"  he  reflected,  as  on 
the  third  evening  he  returned  to  his  Fifth  Avenue  house. 
"Now  that  I'm  really  in  danger  of  losing  her,  I'm  just 
beginning  to  realize  what  an  extraordinary  woman  she 
is!  As  a  wife,  the  mistress  of  my  establishment,  a  hostess, 
a  social  leader,  what  a  figure  she  would  make!  And 
too,  the  alliance  between  Flint  and  myself  simply  must 
not  be  shattered.  Kate  is  the  only  child.  The  old  man's 
billion,  or  more,  will  surely  come  to  her,  practically  every 
penny  of  it.  Flint  is  more  than  sixty-three  this  very  min 
ute,  he's  a  dope-fiend,  and  his  heart's  damned  weak.  He's 
liable  to  drop  off,  any  moment.  If  I  get  Kate,  and  he 
dies,  what  a  fortune !  What  a  prize !  Added  to  my  inter 
ests,  it  will  make  me  master  of  the  world! 

"Then,  too,  this  new  Air  Trust  scheme  positively  de 
mands  that  Flint  and  I  should  be  bound  together  by  some 
thing  closer  than  mere  financial  association.  I've  simply 
got  to  be  one  of  the  family.  I've  got  to  be  his  son-in-law. 
That's  a  positive  necessity!  God,  what  a  fool  I  was  at 
Longmeadow,  to  have  taken  those  three  drinks,  and  have 
been  piqued  at  her  beating  me — to  have  let  my  tongue  and 
temper  slip — in  short,  to  have  acted  like  an  ass!" 


152  THE     AIR     TRUST 

Ugly  and  grim,  he  puffed  at  his  Londres.  Vast  schemes 
of  finance  and  of  conquest  wove  through  his  busy,  plot 
ting  brain.  Visions  of  the  girl  arose,  too,  tempting  him 
still  more,  though  his  chill  heart  was  powerless  to  feel 
the  urge  of  any  real,  self-sacrificing  or  devoted  love. 
Sensual  passion  he  knew,  and  ambition  and  the  lust  of 
power;  nothing  else.  But  these  all  opened  his  eyes  to 
the  vast  blunder  he  had  committed,  and  nerved  him  to 
reconquest  of  the  ground  that  he  had  lost. 

"I  can  win  her,  yet,"  reflected  he,  as  his  car  swung 
into  the  long  and  brilliant  night-vista  of  Fifth  Avenue. 
"I  know  women,  and  I  understand  the  game.  Flowers, 
letters,  telephone  calls,  attention  every  day — every  hour, 
if  need  be — these  are  the  artillery  to  batter  down  the 
strongest  fortresses  of  indifference,  even  of  dislike.  And 
she  shall  have  them  all — all  and  more.  Wally,  old  chap, 
you've  never  been  beaten  at  any  game,  whether  in  the 
Street  or  in  the  pursuit  of  woman.  You'll  win  yet;  you're 
bound  to  win!  And  Kate  shall  yet  open  the  door  to 
you,  toward  wealth  and  power  and  position  such  as  never 
yet  were  seen  on  earth!" 

Thus  fortified  by  his  own  determination,  he  slept  more 
calmly  that  night.  And,  on  the  morrow,  his  campaign 
began. 

It  lasted  but  a  week. 

At  the  end  of  that  time,  a  friendly  little  note  from 
Idle  Hour  told  him,  frankly  and  in  the  kindest  manner 
possible,  that — much  as  she  still  liked  and  respected  him 
— Catherine  could  not,  now  or  ever,  think  of  him  in  any 
other  way  than  as  a  friend. 

Stunned  by  this  body-blow,  "Tiger"  first  swore  with 
hideous  blasphemies  that  caused  his  valet  to  retreat  pre- 


TIGER  WALDRON  "COMES  BACK."       153 

cipitately  from  the  famous,  nymph-frieze  bedchamber; 
then  ordered  drink,  then  walked  the  floor  a  while  in  a 
violent  passion;  and  finally  knit  up  his  decision. 

"By  God!"  he  swore,  shaking  his  fist  in  the  direction 
of  Englewood.  "She's  balky,  eh?  She  won't,  eh?  But 
/  say  she  will!  And  if  I  can't  make  her,  there's  her  father, 
who  can.  Together  we  can  break  this  stiff-necked  spirit 
and  bring  her  to  time.  Hm!  Fancy  anybody  or  any 
thing  in  this  world  setting  up  opposition  to  Flint  and 
Waldron,  combined!  Just  fancy  it,  that's  all! 

"So  then,  what's  to  do?  This:  See  her  father  and 
have  a  heart-to-heart  talk  with  him.  It's  obvious  she 
hasn't  told  him,  yet,  the  real  state  of  affairs.  I  doubt 
if  the  old  idiot  has  even  noticed  the  absence  of  my  ring 
from  her  finger.  And  if  he  has,  she's  been  able  to  fool 
him,  easily  enough.  But  not  much  longer,  so  help  me ! 

"No,  this  very  morning  he  shall  hear  from  me,  the 
whole  infernal  story — he  shall  learn  his  daughter's  un 
reasonable  rebellion,  the  slight  she's  put  upon  me  and 
her  opposition  to  his  will.  Then  we  shall  see — we  shall 
see  who's  master  in  that  family,  he  or  the  girl !" 

With  this  strong  determination  in  his  superheated 
mind,  Waldron  rang  up  Flint,  asked  for  a  private  talk, 
at  eleven,  in  the  Wall  Street  office,  and  made  ready  the 
mustering  of  his  arguments ;  his  self-defense ;  his  appeals 
to  Flint's  every  sense  of  interest  and  liking;  his  whole 
plea  for  the  resumption  of  the  broken  betrothal. 

And  Catherine,  all  this  time  of  convalescence — what 
were  her  thoughts,  and  whither  were  they  straying?  Not 
thoughts  of  Waldron,  that  is  sure,  despite  his  notes,  his 
telephoning,  his  flowers,  his  visits.  Not  to  him  did  they 
wander,  as  she  sat  in  her  sunny  bedroom  bay-window, 


154  THE     AIR     TRUST 

looking  out  over  the  great,  close  cropped  lawn,  through 
the  oaks  and  elms,  to  the  Palisades  and  the  sparkling 
Hudson  beneath. 

No,  not  to  Waldron.  Yet  wander  they  did,  despite 
her;  and  with  persistence  they  followed  channels  till  then 
quite  unknown  to  her. 

What  might  these  channels  be?  And  whither,  I  ask 
again,  did  the  girl's  memories  and  fancies,  her  wondering 
thoughts,  her  vague,  half-formulated  longings,  lead? 

You,  perhaps,  can  answer,  as  well  as  I,  if  you  but  re 
member  that — Billionaire's  daughter  though  she  was,  and 
all  unversed  in  the  hard  realities  of  life — she  was,  at 
heart  and  soul,  very  much  a  woman  after  all. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 
THOUGHTS. 

OURING  the  long  days,  the  June  days,  of  her  con 
valescence,  Catherine  found  herself  involuntarily 
reverting,    more   often   than   she   could   understand,    to 
thoughts  of  the  inscrutable  and  unknown  man  who  had 
in  all  probability  saved  her  life. 

"Had  it  not  been  for  him,"  she  reflected,  as  she  sat 
there  gazing  out  over  the  river,  "I  might  not  be  here, 
this  minute.  Caught  as  I  was,  on  the  very  brink  of  the 
precipice,  I  should  almost  certainly  have  slipped  and  fallen 
over,  in  my  dazed  condition,  when  I  tried  to  get  up.  If 
I'd  been  alone,  if  he  hadn't  found  me  just  when  he 
did !" 

She  shuddered  at  thought  of  what  must  almost  inevi 
tably  have  happened,  and  covered  her  face  with  both 
hands.  Her  cheeks  burned;  she  knew  emotion  such  as 
not  once  had  Waldron's  kiss  ever  been  able  to  arouse  in 
her.  The  memory  of  how  she,  half-unconscious,  had 
lain  in  that  stranger's  arms,  so  powerful  and  tense;  had 
been  carried  by  him,  as  though  she  had  been  a  child; 
had  felt  his  breath  upon  her  face  and  the  quick,  vigorous 
beating  of  his  heart — all  this,  and  more,  dwelt  in  her 
soul,  nor  could  she  banish  it. 

Gratitude?  Yes,  and  more.  For  the  first  time  in 
her  two-and-twenty  years,  Catherine  had  sensed  the 
power,  the  virility  of  a  real  man — not  of  the  make-be- 


156  THE    AIR    TRUST 

lieve,  manicured  and  tailored  parasites  of  her  own  class 
— and  something  elemental  in  her,  some  urge  of  primitive 
womanhood,  grappled  her  to  that  memory  and,  all  against 
her  will,  caused  her  to  live  and  re-live  those  moments, 
time  and  time  again,  as  the  most  strange  and  vital  of 
her  life. 

Yet,  it  was  not  this  physical  call  alone,  in  her,  that 
had  awakened  her  being.  The  man's  eyes,  and  mouth  and 
hair,  true,  all  remained  with  her  as  a  subtly  compelling 
lure;  his  strength  and  straight  directness  seemed  to  con 
quer  her  and  draw  her  to  him;  but  beyond  all  this,  some 
thing  in  his  speech,  in  his  ideas  and  the  strange  reticence 
that  had  so  puzzled  her,  kept  him  even  more  constantly 
in  her  wondering  thoughts. 

"A  workingman,"  she  murmured  to  herself,  in  uncon> 
prehending  revery,  "he  said  he  was  a  workingman — and 
he  knew  that  I  was  very,  very  rich.  He  knew  my  father 
would  have  rewarded  him  magnificently,  given  him 
money,  work,  anything  he  might  have  asked.  And  yet, 
and  yet — he  would  not  even  tell  his  name.  And  he 
refused  to  know  mine!  He  didn't  want  to  know!  His 
pride — why,  in  all  my  life,  among  all  the  proud,  rich 
people  that  I've  known,  I've  never  found  such  pride  as 
that!" 

She  reflected  what  would  have  happened  had  any  man 
of  the  usual  type  rescued  her,  even  a  man  of  wealth  and 
position.  Of  course,  thought  she,  that  man  would  have 
made  himself  known  and  would  have  called  on  her,  os 
tensibly  to  inquire  after  her  condition,  yet  really  to  ingra 
tiate  himself.  At  this  reflection  she  shuddered  again. 

"Ugh !"  she  whispered.  "He'd  have  tried  to  take  lib 
erties,  any  other  man  would.  He'd  have  presumed  on  the 


THOUGHTS  157 

accident — he'd  have  been — oh,  everything  that  that  man 
was  not,  and  could  never  be!" 

Now  her  thoughts  wandered  to  the  brief  talk  they  two 
had  had  there  in  the  old  sugar-house.  Every  word  of  it 
seemed  graven  on  her  memory.  Disconnected  bits  of 
what  he  had  told  her,  seemed  to  float  before  her  mental 
vision — :  "I?  Oh,  I'm  just  an  out-of-work — don't  ask 
me  who  I  am;  and  I  won't  ask  who  you  are.  We're  of 
different  worlds,  I  guess — don't  question  me;  I'd  rather 
you  wouldn't.  Am  I  happy?  Yes,  in  a  way,  or  shall 
be,  when  I've  done  what  I  mean  to  do!" 

Such  were  some  of  his  phrases  that  kept  coming  back 
to  her,  as  she  sat  there  in  that  luxurious  and  beautiful 
room,  her  book  lying  unread  in  her  lap,  the  scent  of 
flowers  everywhere,  and,  merely  for  her  taking,  all  the 
world's  treasures  hers  to  command.  Strange  man,  in 
deed,  and  stranger  speech,  to  her!  Never  had  she  been 
thus  spoken  to.  His  every  word  and  thought  and  point 
of  view,  commonplace  enough,  perhaps,  seemed  peculiarly 
stimulating  to  her,  and  wakened  eager  curiosity,  and 
would  not  let  her  live  in  peace,  as  heretofore. 

"He  said  he  was  a  Socialist,  too,"  she  murmured, 
"whatever  that  may  be.  But  he — he  didn't  look  it!  On 
the  contrary,  he  looked  remarkably  clean  and  intelligent. 
And  the  words  he  used  were  the  words  of  an  educated 
man.  Far  better  vocabulary  than  Waldron's,  for  ex 
ample;  and  as  for  poor  little  Van  Slyke,  and  that  set, 
wrhy  this  man's  mind  seems  to  have  towered  above  them 
as  the  Palisades  tower  above  the  river ! 

"Happy?  Rich?  He  said  he  was  both — and  all  he 
had  was  eighteen  dollars  and  his  two  big  hands!  Just 
fancy  that,  will  you?  He  might  as  well  have  said  eigh- 


158  THE    AIR    TRUST 

teen  cents;  it  would  have  been  about  as  much!  And  I 
— what  did  I  tell  him?  I  told  him  I,  with  all  my  money 
and  everything,  was  vacant,  empty,  futile!  Just  those 
words.  And — God  help  me,  I — I  am !" 

Suddenly,  she  felt  her  eyes  were  wet.  What  was  the 
reason?  Herself  she  knew  not.  All  she  knew  was  that 
with  her  beautiful  and  queenly  head  bowed  on  the  arm  of 
her  Japanese  silk  morning  gown,  as  its  loose  sleeves  lay 
along  the  edge  of  the  Chippendale  table,  she  was  crying 
like  a  child. 

Crying  bitterly;  and  yet  in  a  kind  of  new,  strange  joy. 
Crying  with  tears  so  bitter-sweet  that  she,  herself,  could 
not  half  understand  them;  could  not  fathom  the  deeper 
meaning  that  lay  hidden  there. 

"If!"  she  whispered  to  her  heart.  "If  only  I  were  of 
his  class,  or  he  of  mine !" 

And  Gabriel,  what  of  him? 

As  he  swung  north  and  westward,  day  by  day,  on  the 
long  hike  toward  Niagara,  the  memory  of  the  girl  went 
with  him,  and  hour  by  hour  bore  him  company. 

He  was  not  forgetting.  Could  he  forget?  Strive  as 
he  might,  to  thrust  her  out  of  his  heart  and  soul,  she 
still  indwelt  there. 

Not  all  his  philosophy,  nor  all  his  realization  that  this 
woman  he  had  saved,  this  woman  who  had  lain  in  his 
two  arms  and  mingled  her  breath  with  his,  belonged  to 
another  and  an  alien  class,  could  banish  her. 

And  as  he  strode  along,  swinging  his  knotted  stick  at 
the  daisies  and  pondering  on  all  that  might  have  been 
and  now  could  never  be,  a  sudden,  passionate  longing 
burst  over  him,  as  a  long  sea-roller,  hurled  against  a  cliff, 
flings  upward  in  vast  tourbillions  of  spume. 


THOUGHTS  159 

Raising  his  face  to  the  summer  sky,  his  bare  head  high 
with  emotion  and  his  eyes  wide  with  the  thought  of 
strange  possibilities  that  shook  and  intoxicated  him,  he 
cried : 

"Oh — would  God  she  were  an  orphan  and  an  outcast! 
Would  God  she  had  no  penny  in  this  world  to  call  her 
o'.vn !" 


> 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 
FLINT  AND  WALDRON  PLAN. 

WALDRON'S  interview  with  old  man 
Flint,  regarding  Catherine's  breaking  of  the  en 
gagement,  was  particularly  electric.  Promptly  at  the  ap 
pointed  hour,  Waldron  appeared,  shook  hands  with  the 
older  man,  sat  down  and  lighted  a  cigar,  then  proceeded 
to  business. 

"Flint,"  said  he,  without  any  ado,  "I've  come  here  to 
tell  you  some  very  unpleasant  news  and  to  ask  your  help. 
Can  you  stand  the  one,  and  give  me  the  other  ?" 

The  Billionaire  looked  at  him  through  his  pince-nez, 
poised  on  that  vulture-beak,  with  some  astonishment. 
Then  he  smiled  nervously,  showing  his  gleaming  tooth 
of  gold,  and  answered : 

"Yes,  I  guess  so.     What's  wrong?" 

"What's  wrong?  Everything!  Catherine  has  broken 
our  engagement!" 

For  a  moment  old  Flint  sat  there  motionless  and  star 
ing.  Then,  moving  his  head  forward  with  a  peculiar, 
pecking  twitch  that  still  further  enhanced  his  likeness 
to  a  buzzard,  he  stammered : 

"You — you  mean ?" 

"I  mean  just  what  I  say.  Your  daughter  has  severed 
the  betrothal.  Haven't  you  noticed  my  ring  was  gone 
from  her  finger?" 

"Gone?     Bless  my  soul,  no — that  is,  yes — maybe.     I 


FLINT  AND  WALDRON  PLAN  161 

don't  know.  But — but  at  any  rate,  I  thought  nothing 
of  it.  So  then,  you  say — she's  broken  it  off  ?  But,  w hy  ? 
And  when?  And — and  tell  me,  Wally,  what's  it  all 
about?" 

"Listen,  and  I  will  tell  you,"  Tiger  answered.  "And 
I'll  give  it  to  you  straight.  I'm  partly  at  fault.  Mostly 
so,  it  may  be.  Let  me  assume  all  the  blame,  at  any  rate. 
I'm  not  sparing  myself  and  have  no  intention  of  doing  so. 
My  conduct,  I  admit,  was  beastly.  No  excuses  offered. 
All  I  want  to  do,  now,  is  to  make  the  amende  honorable, 
be  forgiven,  and  have  the  former  status  resumed." 

Thus  spoke  Waldron.  But  all  the  time  his  soul  lay  hot 
within  him,  at  having  so  to  humble  himself  before  Flint ; 
at  being  thus  obliged  to  eat  crow,  and  fawn  and  feign 
and  creep. 

"If  I  didn't  need  your  billion,  old  man,"  his  secret 
thought  w     ,  as  he  eyed  Flint  with  pretended  humility, 
"you  might,  go  to  Hell,  for  all  of  me — you  and  your 
'  'nor'nter  with  you,  damn  you  both!" 
r\tlil    Billionaire  sat  blinking,   for  a  moment.      Then, 
picking  up  a  pencil  and  idly  scrawling  pothooks  on  the 
big  clean  sheet  of  blotting-paper  that  covered  his  refer 
ence-book  table,  beside  which  the  men  were  sitting,  he 
asked : 

"Well,  what's  the  trouble  all  about?  What  are  the 
facts  ?  I  must  have  those,  in  full,  before  I  can  guarantee 
to  do  anything  toward  changing  my  daughter's  opinion. 
Much  as  I  deplore  her  action,  Wally,  I  don't  know 
whether  she's  right  or  wrong,  till  you  tell  me.  Now,  let's 
have  it." 

"I  will,"  the  other  answered:  and  he  was  as  good  as 
his  \vord.  Realizing  the  prime  futility  of  any  subterfuge, 


162  THE     AIR     TRUST 

or  any  misstatement  of  fact — which  Catherine  would 
surely  discover  and  tell  her  father,  and  which  would  react 
against  him — Waldron  began  at  the  beginning  and  nar 
rated  the  entire  affair,  with  every  detail  precisely  accu 
rate.  Nay,  he  even  exaggerated  the  offensiveness  of  his 
conduct,  at  the  Longmeadow  Club,  and  in  various  ways 
gave  the  Billionaire  to  understand  that  he  was  a  more 
serious  offender  than  in  truth  he  really  was.  For,  after 
all,  the  only  real  offense  was  the  lack  of  any  compati 
bility  between  the  girl  and  himself — the  total  absence  of 
love. 

Flint  listened  carefully  and  with  a  judicial  expression. 
If  he  blamed  Waldron,  he  made  no  statement  of  that 
fact.  A  man  himself,  and  one  who  viewed  man's  weak 
nesses  and  woman's  foibles  with  a  cynic  eye,  he  could 
judge  motives  and  weigh  actions  with  considerable  skill. 

"I  see,  I  see,"  he  commented,  when  Waldron  had  quite 
done,  and  had  poured  forth  a  highly  false  declaration  of 
his  great  love  for  the  girl  and  his  determination  that  this 
rupture  should  not  be  permanent.  "I  understand  th  ^ase, 
I  think.  It  all  seems  an  unfortunate  accident — just  one 
of  those  unavoidable  incidents  which  strike  into  and  up 
set  human  calculations,  against  all  expectation. 

"You're  not  terribly  guilty,  Waldron.  You  acted  in 
considerably.  Irritatingly,  perhaps,  and  not  wholly  like 
a  gentleman — for  which,  blame  the  rotten  Scotch  they 
Tiill  persist  in  selling,  out  there  at  Longmeadow.  But 
even  that's  not  fatal.  Many  men  have  done  worse  and 
been  forgiven.  I'll  have  a  talk  with  Catherine,  inside  a 
day  or  two,  when  the  psychological  moment  offers.  And 
you  may^be  sure,  if  a  father's  advice  and  good  offices 
are  of  any  avail,  this  little  quarrel  will  be  all  patched  up 


FLINT  AND  WALDRON  PLAN  163 

between  you  two.  Surely  will  be!  I  can  almost  posi 
tively  promise  you  that !" 

"Promise  it?"  asked  Waldron,  leaning  eagerly  for 
ward,  a  strange  light  in  those  close-set,  greenish  eyes. 

Flint  nodded.  "Yes,"  he  answered.  "I've  never  yet 
failed  to  bring  Kate  to  reason  and  good  common-sense, 
when  I've  set  out  to.  This  will  be  no  exception.-  My 
word  and  my  counsel  possess  the  greatest  weight  with 
her.  She'll  listen  and  be  advised,  I'm  sure.  So  have  no 
uneasiness,"  he  concluded,  holding  out  his  hand  to  his 
partner.  ''Leave  everything  to  me.  You'll  see,  it  will 
all  come  right,  in  the  end." 

"Tiger"  shook  his  hand,  cordially. 

"I  haven't  words  to  thank  you!"  he  exclaimed,  with 
as  much  emotion  as  he  could  simulate  from  a  perfectly 
cold  heart  and  calculating  soul. 

"Don't  try  to,"  the  Billionaire  replied,  with  seeming 
benevolence.  "All  the  thanks  I  want,  Wally,  is  to  patch 
up  this  little  difficulty  and  reunite  two — that  is — two  lov 
ing,  sympathetic  hearts!" 

"You  old  hypocrite!"  Waldron  thought,  eyeing  him. 
"All  you  want  of  me;  if  anything,  is  to  keep  me  as  your 
partner,  because  you  know  you're  growing  old  and  losing 
your  grip,  and  I'm  still  in  the  game  with  all  four  claws! 
Paternal  philanthropist  you  are — I  don't  think!" 

Wally  was  dead  right. 

"I  can't  lose  this  man,"  the  Billionaire  was  thinking. 
"Whether  or  no.  Kate  has  got  to  marry  him.  This  Air 
Trust  business  demands  a  strong,  a  quick,  a  perfectly  un 
scrupulous  hand.  And  no  outsider  will  do.  My  partner 
has  got  to  be  my  son-in-law.  Love  be  damned !  Roman- 


164  THE    AIR    TRUST 

tic  slush  can  go  to  Hell!  Kate  will  marry  him — she's 
got  to — or  I'll  know  the  reason  why ! 

"Though,  after  all,"  he  soothed  his  conscience,  as  Wal- 
dron  stood  up,  walked  to  the  window  and  stood  gazing 
out  as  he  smoked,  "after  all,  VVally  will  make  her  as 
happy,  I  fancy,  as  any  man.  He's  a  fine  figure  in  the 
world,  commanding,  heavily  propertied,  energetic  and 
successful,  also  of  the  finest  family  connections.  Yes,  a 
husband  any  woman  might  admire  and  be  proud  of. 
Certainly,  the  only  son-in-law  for  me.  Even  if  she  can't 
idolize  and  worship  him,  as  some  fool  women  think  they 
must,  a  man,  she  can  respect  and  be  respected  with  him. 
And  with  him  she  can  take  the  highest  position  in  the 
land,  without  a  qualm  as  to  his  competence  and  manner. 
Beside  all  that,  what's  love?  Love?  Bah!" 

With  which  philosophy,  he  too  arose,  went  back  into 
his  own  office,  and  returned  to  the  dictating  of  some 
very  private  letters  to  Slade,  the  Cosmos  Detective 
Agency  manager,  in  re  the  ferreting-out  and  jailing  or 
deporting  of  all  Socialists  and  labor  leaders  at  Niagara. 
This  preparatory  work  on  the  ground  of  the  huge  new 
Air  Trust  plant,  he  deemed  most  essential  The  Cosmos 
people,  scenting  a  big  contract,  had  fostered  his  belief, 
and  now,  already,  the  work  was  well  under  way.  Sub 
terranean  methods  were  still  sufficing;  but,  should  these 
fail,  others  lay  in  the  background. 

Flint  smiled  a  grim,  vulturine  smile  as  he  read  over 
the  finished  letters  of  instruction,  a  few  minutes  later. 

"And  to  think,"  he  mused,  as  he  finished  them,  "that 
these  fanatics  believe — really  believe — they  can  make 
headway  anywhere  in  this  country,  now!  Ten  years  ago, 
yes,  they  might  have.  But  that's  not  to-day.  Then,  pub- 


FLINT  AND  WALDRON  PLAN  165 

lie  opinion — stupid  and  futile  as  it  was — could  still  be 
aroused.  Then,  there  was  a  really  effective  labor  and  So 
cialist  press.  And  the  Limited  Franchise  Bill  hadn't  gone 
through.  Neither  had  the  enlarged  .Military  Bill,  the  Na 
tional  Censorship  nor  even  the  Grays — the  National 
Mounted  Police.  While  now — ah,  thank  Heaven,  it's  all 
so  different  and  so  easy  that  I  call  myself  a  fool,  at  times, 
for  even  giving  these  matters  a  single  thought! 

''Well,"  he  concluded,  handing  the  letters  back  to  his 
confidential  secretary,  for  mailing,  "well,  now  that's  done, 
at  any  rate.  So  then,  to  the  S.  &  S.  committee  meeting. 
And  tonight  my  little  talk  with  Kate.  I'll  soon  bring 
her  to  reason,  I'm  sure.  There's  nothing  can't  be  accom 
plished  by  a  little  patience  and  persuasion." 

The  old  Billionaire  chose  his  time  well,  that  night,  for 
the  vital  interview  with  his  daughter,  who  had  so  far 
rebelled  against  his  authority  as  to  break  with  the  man 
most  eminently  acceptable  to  him.  After  a  simple  but 
exquisite  dinner  in  the  Venetian  room,  he  asked  the  girl 
to  play  for  him,  which  (he  knew)  always  pleased  her 
and  put  her  in  a  receptive  mood. 

"Play  for  you,  father?"  she  answered.  "Of  course  I 
will,  anything  and  as  much  as  you  like!  What  shall  it 
be,  tonight?  Chopin,  or  Grieg,  or ?" 

"Anything  that  pleases  you,  suits  me,  my  dear,"  he 
answered,  smiling  with  satisfaction  at  his  ruse.  Never 
had  he  felt  more  masterful.  He  had  allowed  himself  a 
trifle  more  morphia  than  usual  that  day,  by  reason  of 
the  approaching  interview ;  and  now  the  subtle  drug  filled 
him  with  well-being  and  seemed  to  enhance  his  self- 
control  and  power.  Lighting  a  cigar — rare  treat  for 
him — he  offered  Kate  his  arm;  and  together,  unattended 


166  THE     AIR     TRUST 

by  any  valet  or  domestic,  they  walked  along  the  high, 
paneled  hallway,  hung  with  Gobelin  tapestries,  and  so 
reached  the  magnificent  music-room  which  Kate  claimed, 
in  a  way,  as  her  own  special  place  at  Idle  Hour. 

Here  everything  suggested  harmony.  The  mahogany 
wainscotted  walls  were  decked  with  fine  portraits  of  the 
world's  great  masters  of  melody.  Handsome  cabinets 
contained  costly  and  elaborate  collections  and  folios  of 
music,  a  complete  library  of  the  entire  world's  best  pro 
ductions.  The  girl's  harp — a  masterpiece  by  Pestalozzi 
of  Venice — stood  at  one  side;  on  the  other,  a  five  hun 
dred  dollar  Victrola,  with  a  wonderful  repertoire  of  rec 
ords.  But  the  grand  piano  itself  dominated  all,  espe 
cially  made  for  Catherine  by  Durand  Freres,  in  Paris, 
and  imported  on  the  Billionaire's  own  yacht,  the  "Ban 
dit."  A  wondrous  instrument,  this,  finer  even  than  the 
pipe-organ  in  an  alcove  at  the  far  end  of  the  room.  It 
summed  up  all  that  the  world's  masters  knew  of  instru 
ment-production  ;  and  its  cost,  from  factory  to  its  present 
place  at  Idle  Hour,  represented  twenty  years'  wages,  and 
more,  of  any  of  Flint's  slaves  in  the  West  Virginia  mines 
or  the  Glenn  Pool  oil-fields  of  Oklahoma. 

At  this  magnificent  piano  the  girl  now  ceated  herself, 
on  a  bench  of  polished  teak,  from  Mindanao.  And,  turn 
ing  to  her  father,  who  had  sunk  down  in  his  favorite 
easy-chair  of  Russia  leather,  she  asked  with  a  smile: 

"Well,  daddy,  what  shall  I  play  for  you,  to-night?" 

He  looked  at  her  a  minute,  before  replying.  Never 
had  she  seemed  to  dear,  so  beautiful  to  him.  The  rose- 
tinted  light  that  fell  softly  from  a  Bohemian  chandelier 
over  her  head,  flooded  her  coiled  hair,  her  face,  her 
hands,  with  soft  warm  color.  The  slight  dressing  that 


FLINT  AND  WALDRON  PLAN  167 

her  wound  now  required  was  covered  by  a  deft  arrange 
ment  of  her  hair.  She  had  regained  her  usual  tint.  Noth 
ing  now  told  of  the  accident,  the  close  call  she  had  had, 
from  death,  so  short  a  time  before.  And  old  Flint  smiled, 
as  he  answered  her: 

"What  shall  you  play?  Anything  you  like,  my  dear. 
You  know  best — only,  don't  make  it  too  classical.  Your 
old  father  isn't  up  to  that  ultra  music,  you  know,  and 
never  will  be!" 

She  smiled  again  with  understanding,  and  turned  to 
the  keyboard.  Then,  without  notes,  and  with  a  delicate 
touch  of  perfectly  modulated  interpretation,  she  began  to 
render  "Traiimerei,"  as  though  she,  too,  had  been  dream 
ing  of  something  that  might  have  been. 

Flint  listened,  with  perfect  content.  The  music  soothed 
and  quieted  him.  Even  the  foreknowledge  of  the  dif 
ficult  task  that  lay  before  him,  the  interview  that  he  must 
have  with  his  daughter,  faded  from  his  mind,  a  little,  and 
left  him  wholly  calm.  Eyes  closed,  every  sense  intent  on 
the  delicious  harmony,  he  followed  the  masterpiece  to  the 
end;  and  sighed  when  the  last  notes  had  died  away,  and 
kept  silence. 

Then  Kate,  still  needing  no  music  on  the  rack  before 
her,  played  the  "Miserere"  from  "II  Trovatore,"  a  Hun 
garian  "Czardas,"  Mendelssohn's  "Friihlingslied"  and  the 
overture  from  "William  Tell."  She  followed  these  with 
the  "Intermezzo"  and  the  "Pizzicato"  from  "Sylvia,"  and 
then  with  "Narcissus"  and  "Sans  Souci."  And  at  the 
end  of  this,  she  paused  again ;  for  now  her  father  had 
arisen  and  come  close  to  her.  With  a  hand  on  her  shoul 
der,  looking  down  at  her  with  stern  yet  kindly  eyes,  he 
said: 


168  THE     AIR     TRUST 

'  'Sans  Souci'  ?  That  means  'Without  Care,'  doesn't 
it,  Kate?" 

"Yes,  Daddy.     Why?"  she  answered. 

"Oh,  I  was  just  thinking,  that's  all,"  said  he.  "It 
made  me  wish  7  had  no  cares,  no  troubles,  no  sorrows." 

"Sorrows,  father?  Why  should  you  have  sorrows?" 
she  queried,  turning  to  him  and  taking  both  his  shriveled 
hands  in  her  warm,  strong  ones. 

"Sorrows?  Why  shouldn't  I?"  said  he.  "Every  man 
of  large  affairs  has  them.  Every  father  has  them,  too." 
And  he  bent  over  her  and  kissed  her,  with  unusual  emo 
tion. 

"Every  father?"  asked  she.  "What  do  you  mean? 
Am  /  a  sorrow  to  you?" 

"A  joy  in  many  ways,"  he  answered.  "In  some,  a 
sorrow." 

"In  what  ways?"  she  asked  quickly,  her  eyes  widening. 

"In  this  way,  most  of  all,"  he  told  her,  as  he  took  her 
left  hand  up,  and  pointed  at  the  finger  where  Waldron's 
ring  had  been  and  now  no  longer  was. 

She  looked  at  him  a  moment,  hardly  r«r*.1erstanding; 
then  bowed  her  head. 

"Father,"  she  whispered.  "Forgive  me — but  I  couldn't ! 
I— I  couldn't !  No,  not  for  the  world !" 

Flint's  drug-contracted  eyes  hardened  as  he  stood  there 
gazing  down  at  her.  Once,  twice  he  essayed  to  speak, 
but  found  no  words.  At  last,  however,  blinking  ner 
vously,  he  said : 

"This,  Kate,  is  what  I  want  to  talk  with  you  about, 
to-night.  Will  you  hear  me?" 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
CATHERINE'S  DEFIANCE. 

EAR  you,  best  and  dearest  father  in  the  world?" 
she  cried,  looking  quickly  up  at  him  again.   "Of 

course  I  will!     Only,  I  beg  you,  don't — don't  ask  me 
, i> 

"I  will  ask  you  nothing,  Kate,  my  girl,  save  this — to 
consider  everything  well,  and  to  act  like  a  reasoning, 
thinking  creature,  not  like  an  impetuous  and  romantic 
school-girl !" 

Releasing  her  hands,  he  once  more  sat  down  in  the 
easy-chair,  crossed  his  legs  and  peered  keenly  at  her,  to 
fathom  if  he  could  the  inner  workings  of  that  other  brain 
and  heart. 

"Well,  father,"  she  said,  "I'll  admit,  right  away,  that 
I've  done  wrong  to  keep  this  from  you,  or  to  try  to.  We 
— T — broke  the  engagement,  that  day  of  the  accident, 
out  at  Longmeadow.  I  meant  to  tell  you,  tell  you  every 
thing,  and  explain  it  all,  but  somehow " 

"You  needn't  explain,  my  dear,"  said  Flint,  judicially. 
"Wally  has  already  done  so." 

"And  does  he  blame  me,  father?"  cried  the  girl,  eagerly, 
clasping  her  hands  on  her  knees. 

"No,  not  at  all.  On  the  contrary,  he  claims  the  fault 
is  all  his  own.  And  he's  most  contrite  and  repentant, 
Kate.  Absolutely  so.  All  he  asks  in  the  world  is  to 
make  amends  and — well,  resume  the  old  relation,  when 
ever  you  are  willing." 

Kate  shook  her  head. 


170  THE     AIR     TRUST 

"That's  noble  and  big  of  him,  father,"  said  she,  "to 
assume  all  the  blame.  Really,  half  of  it  is  mine.  But 
he's  acted  like  a  true  man,  in  taking  it.  However,  that 
can't  change  my  'decision.  I  want  him  for  a  friend,  in 
every  way.  But  for  a  husband,  no,  no,  never  in  this 
world!"  ' 

The  Billionaire  frowned  darkly.  Already  a  stronger 
opposition  was  developing  than  he  had  expected;  and  op 
position  was  the  one  thing  in  all  the  world  that  he  could 
neither  tolerate  nor  endure. 

"Listen,  Kate,"  said  he.  "You  don't  grasp  the  situa 
tion  at  all.  Waldron  is  an  extraordinary  man  in  many 
ways.  In  refusing  him,  you  seriously  injure  yourself. 
Of  course,  he  has  never  done  any  spectacular,  heroic  thing 
for  you,  like — for  instance — that  young  man  who  rescued 
you,  and  whom  I  shall  suitably  reward  as  soon  as  I  find 
him " 

"What!"  she  exclaimed,  peering  eagerly  at  her  father. 
"What  do  you  mean ?  Find  him?  Reward  him?" 

"Eh?  Why,  naturally,"  the  Billionaire  replied,  scowl 
ing  at  the  interruption.  "His  game  of  refusing  his  iden 
tity  was,  of  course,  just  a  clever  dodge  on  his  part.  He 
certainly  must  expect  something  out  of  it:  I  have — er 
— set  certain  forces  at  work  to  discover  him;  and,  as  I 
say,  when  I've  done  so,  I  will  reward  him  liberally, 
and " 

"You'd  better  not!"  ejaculated  Kate,  with  animation. 
"He  isn't  the  sort  of  man  you  can  take  liberties  with!" 

"Hm?  What  now?"  said  Flint,  with  vexation.  "What 
do  you  know  about  him?" 

"Oh,  nothing,  nothing,  father,"  the  girl  answered  quick 
ly.  "Only,  I  think  you're  making  a  mistake  to  try  and 


CATHERINE'S     DEFIANCE  171 

force  a  reward  on  a  man  who  doesn't  want  it.  But  no 
matter,"  she  added,  her  face  tinged  by  a  warmer  glow — 
which  Flint  was  quick  to  see.  "Forgive  my  interruption. 
Now,  about  Wally?" 

The  old  man  peered  intently  at  his  daughter,  a  full 
minute,  then  with  a  peculiar  sinking  at  his  heart,  made 
shift  to  say: 

"About  Wally,  yes;  you  simply  don't  understand. 
That's  all.  Listen  now,  Kate,  and  be  reasonable." 

"I  will,  daddy.  Only  don't  ask  me  to  marry  a  man 
I  don't  and  can't  love,  ever,  ever,  so  long  as  I  live!" 

"That  isn't  anything,  my  girl.     Love  isn't  all." 

"It  is,  to  me!    Without  it,  marriage  is  only "    She 

shuddered.  "No,  daddy;  a  thousand  times  better  for  me 
to  be  an  old  maid,  and — and  all  that,  than  give  myself  to 
him!" 

Flint  set  his  teeth  hard  together. 

"Kate,"  said  he,  his  voice  like  wire,  "now  hear  what 
I  have  to  say !  I  want  you  fully  to  understand  the  char 
acter  and  desirability  of  Maxim  Waldron!" 

Then  in  a  cold,  analytic  voice,  carefully,  point  by  point, 
he  analyzed  the  suitor,  told  of  his  wealth  and  power,  his 
connections  and  his  prospects,  his  culture,  travel,  political 
influence  and  world-wide  reputation. 

"Furthermore,"  he  added,  while  Kate  listened  with  an 
expression  as  cold  as  her  father's  tone  itself,  "he  is  my 
partner.  We  are  allied,  in  business.  I  hope  we  may  be, 
too,  in  family.  This  man  is  one  that  any  woman  in  the 
world  might  be  proud  to  call  her  husband — proud,  and 
glad!  Love  flies  away,  in  a  few  brief  months  or  years. 
Wealth  and  power  and  respect  remain.  And,  with  these, 
love  too  may  come.  Be  strong,  Kate !  Be  sensible !  You 


172  THE    AIR    TRUST 

are  no  child,  but  a  grown  woman.  I  shall  not  try  to  force 
you.  All  I  want  to  do  is  show  you  your  own  best  inter 
est.  Think  this  all  over.  Sleep  on  it.  Tomorrow,  let 
us  talk  of  it  again.  For  your  own  sake,  and  mine,  do  as 
you  should,  and  let  folly  be  averted.  Renew  the  engage 
ment.  Hush  the  breath  of  gossip  and  scandal.  Conform. 
Play  the  game!  Do  right — be  strong!" 

She  only  shook  her  head;  and  now  he  saw  the  glister 
of  tear-drops  in  those  beautiful  gray  eyes. 

"Father,"  cried  she,  standing  up  and  holding  out  both 
hands  to  him.  "Have  mercy  on  me!  I  can't — I  can't! 
My  heart  refuses  and  I  cannot  force  it.  All  this — what 
is  it  to  me?"  She  swept  her  hand  at  the  glowing  luxury 
around  her.  "Without  love,  what  would  such  another 
home  be  to  me?  Worse  than  a  prison-cell,  I  swear!  A 
living  death,  to  one  like  me!  Barter  and  sale — cold  cal 
culation — oh,  horrible  prostitution,  horrible,  unspeak 
able! 

"Poverty,  with  love — yes,  I  would  choose  it.  Without 
love,  I  never,  never  can  give  myself!  Never,  as  long  as 
I  live!" 

The  Billionaire,  too,  stood  up.  He  was  shaking,  now, 
as  in  a  palsy,  striving  to  control  his  rage.  His  fingers 
twitched  spasmodically,  and  his  eyes  burned  like  firecoals 
behind  those  gleaming  lenses. 

Then,  as  he  peered  at  her,  he  suddenly  went  even  paler 
than  before.  Through  his  heart  a  stab  of  understanding 
had  all  at  once  gone  home.  The  veils  were  lifted,  and  he 
knew  the  truth. 

Her  manner  in  speaking  of  that  unknown,  wandering 
rescuer;  the  blush  that  had  burned  from  breast  to  brow, 
when  he  had  mentioned  the  fellow ;  her  aversion  for  Wai- 


CATHERINE'S     DEFIANCE  173 

dron  and  her  reticence  in  talking  of  the  accident — all  this, 
and  more,  now  surged  on  Flint's  comprehension,  flooding 
his  mind  with  light — with  light  and  with  terrible  anger. 

And,  losing  all  control,  he  took  a  step  or  two,  and 
raised  his  shaking  hand.  His  big-knuckled  finger,  shaken 
in  denunciation,  was  raised  almost  in  her  face.  Choking, 
stammering,  he  cried : 

"Ah!     Now  I  know!    Now,  now  I  understand  you!" 

Terrified,  she  retreated  toward  the  door  of  the  music- 
room. 

"Father,  father!  \Vliat  makes  you  look  so?"  she 
gasped.  "Oh,  you  have  never  looked  or  spoken  to  me 
this  way!  What — what  can  it  be?" 

"What  can  it  be?"  he  mouthed  at  her.  "You  ask  me, 
you  hypocrite,  when  you  well  know  ?" 

Suddenly  she  faced  him,  stiffening  into  pride  and  hard 
rebellion. 

"No  more  of  that,  father!"  she  exclaimed,  her  eyes 
blazing.  "I  am  your  daughter,  but  you  can't  talk  to  me 
thus.  You  must  not!" 

"Who — who  are  you  to  say  'must  not?'  "  he  gibed,  now 
wholly  beside  himself.  "You — you,  who  love  a  vaga 
bond,  a  tramp,  scum  and  off-scouring  of  the  gutter?" 

A  strange,  half-choking  sound  was  his  only  answer. 
Then,  with  no  word,  she  turned  away  from  him,  biting 
her  lip  lest  she  answer  and  betray  herself. 

"Go!"  he  commanded,  bloodless  and  quivering.  "Go 
to  your  room.  No  more  of  this!  We  shall  see,  soon, 
who's  master  of  this  house!" 

She  was  already  gone. 

Old  Flint  stood  there  a  moment,  listening  to  her  re 
treating  footfalls  on  the  parquetry  of  the  vast  hall.  Then, 


174  THE    AIR    TRUST 

as  these  died  he  turned  and  groped  his  way,  as  though 
blind,  back  to  his  chair,  and  fell  in  it,  and  covered  his 
eyes  with  both  his  shaking  hands. 

For  a  long  time  he  sat  there,  anguished  and  crucified 
amid  all  that  unmeaning  luxury  and  splendor. 

At  last  he  rose  and  with  uncertain  steps  sought  his 
own  suite,  above-stairs. 

Billionaire  and  world-master  though  he  was,  that  night 
he  knew  his  heart  lay  dead  within  him.  He  realized  that 
all  the  fruits  of  life  were  Dead  Sea  fruits,  withered  to 
dust  and  ashes  on  his  pale  and  quivering  lips. 


CHAPTER  XX. 
THE  BILLIONAIRE'S  PLOT. 

BE  was  aroused  from  this  bitter  revery  by  a  rapping 
at  the  door.  Opening,  he  admitted  Slawson,  his 
valet.  The  servile  one  handed  him  a  letter  with  a  special- 
delivery  stamp  on  it. 

"Excuse  me  for  intruding,  sir,"  said  Slawson,  meekly 
smiling,  "but  I  knew  this  was  urgent." 

"All  right.  Get  out !"  growled  Flint.  When  the  man 
was  gone,  he  fortified  himself  with  a  couple  of  morphine 
tablets,  and  ripped  the  long  envelope.  It  was  from  Slade, 
he  knew,  of  the  Cosmos  Agency. 

With  a  rapid  eye  he  glanced  it  over.  Then  uttering  a 
sudden  oath,  he  studied  it  carefully,  under  the  electric 
bulb  beside  his  dressing-table. 

"Gods  and  devils!"  he  ejaculated.    "What  next?" 

The  letter  read : 

7.;,? A  Park  Row,  Xew  York  City.  June  28,  1921. 
Isaac  L.  Flint.  Esq., 

Idle  Hour,  Englewood.  N.  J. 
Dear  Sir: 

Reporting  in  the  matter  of  the  young  man  who  rescued 
your  daughter,  in  the  recent  accident,  let  me  say  I  have 
discovered  his  identity  and  some  important  facts  concern 
ing  him.  I  take  the  liberty  of  thinking  that  your  inten 
tion  of  rewarding  him.  when  found,  will  be  somewhat  modi 
fied  by  this  information. 

This  man's  name  is  Gabriel  Armstrong,  age  24.  Occupa 
tion,  expert  electrical  and  chemical  worker.  A  Socialist  and 
labor  agitator,  of  the  most  dangerous  type,  because  intel 
lectual  and  well-read.  A  man  of  considerable  power  and 


176  THE     AIR     TRUST 

influence  in  Socialist  and  labor  circles.  Has  Veen  some 
thing  of  a  wanderer.  Is  well  known  to  union  men  and 
Socialists,  all  over  the  country.  A  powerful  speaker,  and 
resourceful. 

He  was  last  employed  at  your  testing-works  on  Staten 
Island.  Discharged  by  your  Mr.  Herzog,  about  two  weeks 
ago,  -for  having,  I  understand,  been  in  possession  of  a 
certain  red-covered  note-book,  which  Mr.  Herzog  found  in 
his  pocket.  This  book  is  the  same  which  you  commissioned 
me  to  find,  but  which  Mr.  Herzog  returned  to  you  before 
I  undertook  the  search  for  it.  The  inference  is  that  this 
Armstrong  is  in  possession  of  some  private  information 
about  your  work,  which  may  make  him  even  more 
dangerous.  Herzog  informs  me  that  you  and  Mr.  Waldron 
have  had  Armstrong  blacklisted.  But  this  seems  of  no  im 
portance  to  the  man,  as  he  is  clever  and  can  live  anywhere, 
by  casual  labor  and  by  working  with  the  Socialists. 

Armstrong  is  now  at  Syracuse.  He  has  been  tramping 
the  roads.  Have  had  two  of  my  operators  enter  his  room 
at  the  Excelsior  Lodging  House  and  search  his  effects, 
while  he  was  taking  a  bath.  Can  find  nothing  to  give  me 
any  legal  means  of  proceeding  against  him.  He  has  some 
ready  money,  so  a  vagrancy-charge  will  not  hold.  If  you 
wish  me  to  resort  to  extreme  measures  to  "get"  him,  kindly 
give  me  carte  blanche,  and  guarantee  me  protection  in  case 
of  trouble.  The  job  can  be  done,  but  it  may  be  risky,  in 
view  of  his  influence  and  backing  among  the  Socialists  and 
labor  people.  Before  proceeding  further  I  want  to  know 
how  far  you  will  support  me. 

Am  having  him  shadowed.  He  cannot  get  away.  As  yet, 
he  suspects  nothing.  On  receipt  of  your  next,  will  take 
measures  to  put  him  away  for  a  few  months.  I  know  that, 
once  he  lands  behind  bars,  his  finish  can  be  easily  arranged. 

Trusting  this  information  will  prove  satisfactory  to  you. 
and  awaiting  your  further  instructions,  I  am, 
Very  truly  yours, 

THE  COSMOS  AGENCY, 

Dillon  F.  Slade,  Mgr. 


Old  Flint  read  this  extraordinary  communication  twice 
through,  then,  raising  his  head,  growled  in  his  shrunken 
throat,  for  all  the  world  like  a  wild  beast.  His  gold  tooth, 
gleaming  in  the  light,  made  his  rictus  of  passion  more 
venomous,  more  malevolent  still. 

"The — the  Hell-hound!"  he  stammered,  his  eyes  nar 
rowed  with  hate  and  rage.  "Oh,  wait!  Wait  till  we 


THE     BILLIONAIRE'S     PLOT  177 

land  him!  And  this — this  is  the  devil,  the  scum,  that 
Kate,  my  daughter " 

He  could  not  finish;  but,  clutching  at  his  sparse  gray 
hair,  fell  to  pacing  the  floor  and  mouthing  execrations. 
Had  he  been  of  the  sanguine  manner  of  body,  he  must 
inevitably  have  suffered  an  apoplexy.  Only  his  spare 
frame  and  bloodless  type,  due  to  the  drug,  saved  his  life, 
at  that  first  shock  of  rage  and  hate. 

Grown  calmer,  presently,  he  took  quick  action.  Seat 
ing  himself  at  a  desk  in  the  corner  of  his  bed-chamber 
— a  desk  where  some  of  his  most  important  private  mat 
ters  had  been  put  through — he  chose  a  sheet  of  blank 
paper,  with  no  monogram,  and  wrote: 

Take  immediate  action.  Will  back  you  to  the 
limit,  and  beyond.  Ten  thousand  bonus  if  you  land 
him  behind  bars  inside  a  week.  Stop  at  nothing,  but 
get  results.  F. 

This  he  folded  and  put  in  an  envelope  which  he  ad 
dressed  to  Slade,  and  was  about  to  seal,  when  another 
idea  struck  him. 

"By  God !"  he  exclaimed,  smiting  the  desk.  "It  won't 
do  to  have  this  just  some  ordinary  charge.  The  thing 
has  got  to  be  disgraceful,  unpardonable,  hideous! 

"There  are  two  things  to  be  considered  now.  One  is 
to  'get'  him,  in  connection  with  that  red  book  of  my 
plans — to  head  him  off  from  making  any  possible  trouble 
in  the  development  of  the  Air  Trust. 

"The  other  is — Kate !  Nothing  catches  a  woman,  like 
martyrdom.  If  anything  happens  to  this  cur,  and  she 
suspects  that  I've  done  it,  out  of  spite,  all  Hell  can't 


178  THE     AIR     TRUST 

hold  her.  I  know  her  well  enough  for  that.  No,  this 
fellow  has  got  to  be  put  away  on  some  charge  that  will 
absolutely  and  utterly  ruin  him,  in  her  eye3,  for  good  and 
all — that  will  blast  and  wreck  him,  forever,  with  her. 
Something  that,  when  I  tell  her,  will  fill  her  with  loath 
ing  and  horror.  Something  that  will  cause  a  terrible 
and  complete  revulsion  of  feeling  in  her,  and  bring  her 
back  to  Waldron,  as  to  a  strong  refuge  in  time  of  trouble. 
Something  that  will  crush  and  quell  her,  utterly  cure  her 
of  those  idiotic,  school-girl  notions  of  hers,  and  make 
her — as  she  should  be — submissive  to  my  will  and  my 
demands!" 

He  pondered  a  moment,  an  ugly,  crafty  smile  on  those 
old  lips  of  his ;  then,  struck  by  sudden  inspiration,  laughed 
a  dry,  harsh  laugh. 

"The  very  thing!"  he  exulted,  with  the  mirth  of  a 
vulture  that  has  just  found  a  peculiarly  revolting  mass 
of  carrion.  "Fool  that  I  was,  not  to  have  thought  of 
it  before!" 

Hastily  he  withdrew  the  letter  from  the  envelope, 
opened  it,  and  with  eager  hand  wrote  three  short  sen 
tences.  He  read  these  over,  nodded  approval,  and  this 
time  sealed  and  addressed  the  letter.  Then  he  pushed 
an  electric  button  over  the  desk. 

"Have  this  letter  carried  to  this  address  at  once,"  he 
commanded  Slawson.  "Mr.  Dillon  Slade,  432  Highland 
Avenue,  Rutherford,  N.  J.  See?  Special  delivery  won't 
do.  Have  Sanders  take  it  at  once,  in  the  racer.  No  an 
swer  required.  And  after  you've  seen  it  start  on  its 
way,  come  back  here.  I  want  to  go  to  bed." 

"Yes,  sir.  All  right,  sir,"  the  valet  bowed  as  he  took 
the  letter  and  departed. 


THE     BILLIONAIRE'S     PLOT  179 

Ten  minutes  later,  he  was  back  again,  helping  old 
Flint  undress. 

Long  after  the  Billionaire  was  in  bed,  in  the  big,  lux 
urious  room,  with  its  windows  open  toward  the  river — 
the  room  guarded  all  night  by  armed  men  in  the  house 
and  on  the  lawn  outside — he  lay  there  thinking  of  his 
plot,  chuckling  to  himself  over  its  infernal  cunning,  and 
filled  with  joy  at  the  prospects  now  opening  out  ahead  of 
him. 

"Two  birds  with  one  stone,  this  time,  for  sure,"  he 
pondered.  "Ha!  They'll  try  to  beat  old  Isaac  Flint  at 
this  or  any  other  game,  will  they?  Man  or  woman,  I 
don't  care  which,  they'll  never  get  away  with  it — never, 
so  long  as  life  and  breath  remain  in  me !" 

Then,  soothed  by  these  happy  thoughts,  and  by  a  some 
what  increased  dosage  of  his  drug,  the  Billionaire  grad 
ually  and  contentedly  fell  asleep,  to  dream  of  victory,  and 
vengeance,  and  power. 

Not  in  weeks  had  he  slumbered  so  peacefully. 

But  for  many  hours  after  lier  father  was  asleep,  Cath 
erine  sat  at  her  window,  in  a  silk  kimono^  and  with 
fevered  pulses  and  dry  eyes,  with  throbbing  heart  and 
leaping  pulses,  thought  long  thoughts. 

Sleepless  she  sat  there,  counting  the  hours  tolled  from 
the  church-spire  in  the  town,  below. 

Morning  still  found  her  at  the  window,  her  brain  afire, 
her  heart  laid  desolate  and  waste  by  the  consuming  strug 
gle  which,  that  night,  had  swept  and  ravaged  it. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 
GABRIEL,  GOOD  SAMARITAN. 

ON  the  evening  of  July  third,  a  week  later,  Gabriel 
Armstrong  found  himself  at  Rochester,  having 
tramped  the  hundred  miles  from  Syracuse,  by  easy  stages. 
During  this  week,  old  Flint  took  good  care  not  to  re 
open  the  subject  of  the  break  with  Waldron;  and  his 
daughter,  too,  avoided  it.  They  two  were  apparently 
at  an  impasse  regarding  it.  But  Flint  inwardly  re 
joiced,  knowing  full  well  the  plot  now  under  way.  And 
though  Waldron  urged  him  to  take  some  further  action 
and  force  the  issue,  Flint  bade  him  hold  his  peace,  and 
wait,  telling  him  all  would  yet  be  well. 

Outwardly  calmer,  the  old  man  was  raging,  within, 
more  and  ever  more  bitterly,  against  Armstrong.  On 
July  first,  Slade  had  reported  in  person  that  his  oper 
ators  who  were  trailing  the  quarry  had — in  the  night — 
discovered  in  one  of  his  pockets  a  maple  leaf  wrapped 
in  a  fine  linen  handkerchief  marked  "C.  J.  F."  Flint, 
recognizing  his  daughter's  initials,  well-nigh  burst  a 
blood-vessel  for  wrath.  But  he  instructed  Slade  not  to 
have  the  handkerchief  abstracted  from  Armstrong's  pos 
session.  By  no  sign  or  hint  must  the  victim  be  made 
aware  that  he  was  being  spied  upon.  When  the  final 
blow  should  fall,  then  (reflected  the  Billionaire,  with 
devilish  satisfaction)  all  scores  would  be  paid  in  full, 
and  more  than  paid. 


GABRIEL,    GOOD    SAMARITAN  181 

July  third,  then,  found  Gabriel  at  Rochester,  now  sev- 
enty-hve  or  eighty  miles  from  Niagara  Falls,  his  goal, 
where — he  had  already  heard — ground  was  being  actually 
broken  for  the  huge  new  power  plant  of  which  lie  alone, 
of  all  outsiders,  understood  the  meaning.  Gabriel 
counted  on  spending  the  Fourth  at  Rochester  where  a 
Socialist  picnic  and  celebration  had  been  arranged.  Ordi 
narily,  he  would  have  taken  part  in  the  work  and  vol 
unteered  as  a  speaker,  but  now,  anxious  to  keep  out  of 
sight,  he  counted  merely  on  forming  one  of  the  crowd. 
There  could  be  little  danger,  thought  he,  in  such  a  mass. 
Despite  the  recent  stringent  censorship  and  military  rule 
of  the  district  by  the  new  Mounted  Police,  a  huge  gather 
ing  was  expected.  The  big  railway  and  lake-traffic 
strikes,  both  recently  lost,  had  produced  keen  resent 
ment,  and,  as  political  and  economic  power  had  been 
narrowed  here,  as  all  over  the  country,  in  these  last  few 
months  of  on-sweeping  capitalist  domination,  the  Social 
ist  movement  had  been  growing  ever  more  and  more 
swiftly. 

"It  will  be  worth  seeing,"  thought  Gabriel,  as  he  stood 
outside  the  lodging-house  where  he  had  taken  a  room  for 
the  night.  The  workers  are  surely  awakening,  at  last. 
The  spirit  I've  been  meeting,  lately,  is  uglier  and  more 
determined  than  anything  I  ever  used  to  find,  a  year  or 
two  ago.  It  seems  to  me,  if  conditions  are  like  this  all 
over  the  country,  the  safety-valve  is  about  ready  to  pop, 
and  the  masters  had  better  look  out,  or  some  of  them 
are  going  to  land  in  Hell! 

"Yes,  I'll  stop  over  here,  one  day,  and  look  and  listen. 
Sorry  I  can't  take  part,  but  I  mustn't.  My  game,  now, 


182  THE    AIR     TRUST 

is  to  travel  underground  as  it  were.  I've  got  a  bigger 
job  in  view  than  soap-boxing,  just  now!" 

He  ate  a  simple  supper  at  an  "Owl"  lunch-cart,  totally 
unaware  that,  across  the  street,  a  couple  of  Cosmos  men 
were  waiting  for  him  to  come  out.  And,  after  this, 
buying  a  Socialist  paper,  he  strolled  into  Evans  Park  to 
sit  and  read,  a  while,  by  the  red  light  of  the  descending 
sun. 

Here  he  remained  till  dark,  smoking  his  briar,  watch 
ing  the  dirty,  ragged  children  of  the  wretched  wage- 
slaves  at  play;  observing  the  exploited  men  and  women 
on  the  park-benches,  as  they  sought  a  little  fresh  air  and 
respite  from  toil;  and  pondering  the  problems  that  still 
lay  before  him.  At  times — often  indeed — his  thoughts 
wandered  to  the  maple-grove  and  the  old  sugar-house, 
far  away  on  the  Hudson.  Memories  of  the  girl  would 
not  be  banished,  nor  longings  for  her.  Who  she  might 
be,  he  still  knewr  not.  Unwilling  to  learn,  he  had  re 
frained  from  looking  up  the  number  he  had  copied  from 
the  plate  of  the  wrecked  machine.  He  had  even  abstained 
from  reading  the  papers,  a  few  days,  lest  he  might  see 
some  account  of  the  accident.  A  strange  kind  of  un 
willingness  to  know  the  woman's  name  possessed  him 
— a  feeling  that,  if  he  positively  identified  her  as  one  of 
some  famous  clan  of  robbers  and  exploiters,  he  could 
no  longer  cherish  her  memory  or  love  the  thought  of 
how  they  two  had,  for  an  hour,  sat  together  and  talked 
and  been  good,  honest  friends. 

"No,"  he  murmured  to  himself,  "it's  better  this  way 
— just  to  recall  her  as  a  girl  in  need,  a  girl  who  let  me 
help  her,  a  girl  I  can  always  remember  with  kind 
thoughts,  as  long  as  I  live !" 


GABRIEL,    GOOD    SAMARITAN  183 

From  his  pocket  he  took  the  little  handkerchief,  which 
wrapped  the  leaf,  once  part  of  her  bed.  A  faint,  elusive 
scent  still  hung  about  it — something  of  her,  still  it 
seemed.  He  closed  his  eyes,  there  on  the  hard  park 
bench,  and  let  his  fancies  rove  whither  they  would;  and 
for  a  time  it  seemed  to  him  a  wondrous  peace  possessed 
him. 

"If  it  could  only  have  been,"  he  murmured,  at  last. 
"If  only  it  could  be!" 

Then  suddenly  urged  by  a  realization  of  the  hopeless 
ness  of  it  all,  he  stood  up,  pocketed  the  souvenirs  of 
her  again,  and  walked  away  in  the  dusk;  away,  through 
the  park ;  away,  at  random,  through  squalid,  ugly  streets, 
where  the  first  electric-lights  were  just  beginning  to  flare; 
where  children  swarmed  in  the  close  heat,  wallowing 
along  the  gutters,  dodging  teams  and  cars,  as  they  es 
sayed  to  play,  setting  off  a  few  premature  firecrackers 
and  mocking  the  police — all  in  all,  leading  the  ugly,  un 
natural,  destructive  life  of  all  children  of  the  city  pro 
letariat. 

"Poor  little  devils!"  thought  Gabriel,  stopping  to  ob 
serve  a  dirty  group  clustered  about  an  ice-cream  cart, 
where  cheap,  adulterated,  high-colored  stuff  was  being 
sold  for  a  penny  a  square — aniline  poison,  no  doubt,  and 
God  knows  what  else.  "Poor  little  kids!  Not  much 
like  the  children  of  the  masters,  eh?  with  their  lawns 
and  playgrounds,  their  beaches  and  flowery  fields,  their 
gardens  and  fine  schools,  their  dogs,  ponies,  autos  and  all 
the  rest!  Some  difference,  all  right — and  it  takes  a 
thousand  of  these,  yes,  ten  thousand,  to  keep  one  of 
those.  And — and  she  was  one  of  the  rich  and  dainty  chil 
dren  !  Her  beauty,  health  and  grace  were  bought  at  the 


184  THE     AIR     TRUST 

price  of  ten  thousand  other  children's  health,  and  joy 
and  lives !  Ah,  God,  what  a  price !  What  a  cruel,  awful, 
barbarous  price  to  pay!" 

Saddened  and  pensive,  he  passed  on,  still  thinking  of 
the  woman  he  could  not  banish  from  his  mind,  despite 
his  bitterness  against  her  class. 

So  he  walked  on  and  on,  now  through  better  streets 
and  now  through  worse,  up  and  down  the  city. 

Here  and  there,  detonations  and  red  fire  marked  the 
impatience  of  some  demonstrator  who  could  not  wait 
till  midnight  to  show  his  ardent  patriotism  and  his  public 
spirit  by  risking  life  and  property.  The  saloons  were  all 
doing  a  land-office  business,  with  the  holiday  impend 
ing  and  the  thermometer  at  97.  Now  and  then,  slattern 
women,  in  foul  clothes  and  with  huge,  gelatinous  breasts, 
could  be  seen  rushing  the  growler,  at  the  "family  en 
trance"  of  some  low  dive.  Even  little  girls  bore  tin 
pails,  for  the  evening's  "scuttle  o'  suds"  to  be  consumed 
on  roof,  or  in  back  yard  of  stinking  tenement,  or  on 
some  fire-escape.  The  city,  in  fine,  was  relaxing  from 
its  toil;  and,  as  the  workers  for  the  most  part  knew  no 
other  way,  nor  could  afford  any,  they  were  trying  to 
snatch  some  brief  moment  of  respite  from  the  Hell  of 
their  slavery,  by  recourse  to  rough  ribaldry  and  alcohol. 

Nine  o'clock  had  just  struck  from  the  church-spires 
which  mocked  the  slums  with  their  appeal  to  an  impassive 
Heaven,  when,  passing  a  foul  and  narrow  alley  that  led 
down  to  the  Genesee  River,  Gabriel  saw  a  woman  sitting 
on  a  doorstep,  weeping  bitterly. 

This  woman — hardly  ir,  •:!  •'  than  a  girl — was  holding 
a  little  bundle  in  one  hand.  The  other  covered  her  face. 
Her  sobs  were  audible.  Grief  of  the  most  intense,  he  saw 


GABRIEL,    GOOD    SAMARITAN  185 

at  once,  convulsed  her.  Two  or  three  by-standers,  watch 
ing  with  a  kind  of  pleased  curiosity,  completed  the  scene, 
most  sordid  in  its  setting,  there  under  the  flicker  of  a 
gas-light  on  the  corner. 

"Hm!  What  now?"  thought  Gabriel,  stopping  to 
watch  the  little  tragedy.  "More  trouble,  eh?  It's  trouble 
all  up  and  down  the  line,  for  these  poor  devils !  Nothing 
but  trouble  for  the  slave-class.  Well,  well,  let's  see  what's 
wrong  now!" 

Gabriel  turned  down  the  alley,  drew  near  the  little 
group,  and  halted. 

"What's  wrong?"  he  asked,  in  the  tone  of  authority 
he  knew  how  to  use:  the  tone  which  always  overbore  his 
outward  aspect,  even  though  he  might  have  been  clad 
in  rags:  the  tone  which  made  men  yield  to  him,  and 
women  look  at  him  with  trustful  eyes,  even  as  the  Bil 
lionaire's  daughter  had  looked. 

"Search  me!"  murmured  one  of  the  men,  shrugging 
his  shoulders.  "7  can't  git  nothin'  out  o'  her.  She's  been 
sittin*  here,  cryin',  a  few  minutes,  that's  all  I  know;  an' 
she  won't  say  nothin'  to  nobody. 

"Any  of  you  men  know  anything  about  it?"  demanded 
Gabriel,  looking  at  the  rest. 

A  murmur  of  negation  was  his  only  answer.  One  or 
two  others,  scenting  some  excitement,  even  though  only 
that  of  a  distressed  woman — common  sight,  indeed! — 
lingered  near.  The  little  group  was  growing. 

Gabriel  bent  and  touched  the  woman's  shoulder. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  he,  in  a  gentle  voice.  "If 
you're  in  trouble,  let  me  help  you." 

Renewed  sobs  were  her  only  answer. 


186  THE     AIR     TRUST 

"If  you'll  only  tell  me  what's  the  matter,"  Gabriel 
went  on,  "I'm  sure  I  can  do  something  for  you." 

"You — you  can't !"  choked  the  woman,  without  raising 
her  head  from  the  corner  of  the  ragged  shawl  that  she 
was  holding  over  her  eyes.  "Nobody  can't!  Bill,  he's 
gone,  and  Eddy's  gone,  and  Mr.  Micolo  says  he  won't 
let  me  in.  So  there  ain't  nothin'  to  do.  Let  me  alone 
— oh  dear,  oh  dear,  dear!" 

Fresh  tears  and  grief.  The  little  knot  of  spectators, 
still  growing,  nodded  with  approval,  and  figuratively 
licked  its  lips,  in  satisfaction.  Somewhere  a  boy  snick 
ered. 

"Come,  come,"  said  Gabriel,  bending  close  over  the 
grief-stricken  woman,  "pull  together,  and  let's  hear  what 
the  trouble  is!  Who's  Bill,  and  who's  Eddy — and  what 
about  Mr.  Micolo?  Come,  tell  me.  I'm  sure  I  can  do 
something  to  straighten  things  out." 

No  answer.  Gabriel  turned  to  the  increasing  crowd, 
again. 

"Any  of  you  people  know  what  about  it  ?"  he  asked. 

Again  no  answer,  save  that  one  elderly  man,  standing 
on  the  steps  beside  the  woman,  remarked  casually : 

"I  guess  she's  got  fired  out  of  her  room.  That's  all  I 
know." 

Gabriel  took  her  by  the  arm,  and  drew  her  up. 

"Come,  now!"  said  he,  a  sterner  note  in  his  voice. 
"This  won't  do !  You  mustn't  sit  here,  and  draw  a  crowd. 
First  thing  you  know  an  officer  will  be  along,  and  you 
may  get  into  trouble.  Tell  me  what's  wrong,  and  I 
promise  to  see  you  through  it,  as  far  as  I  can." 

She  raised  her  face,  now,  and  looked  at  him,  a  mo 
ment.  Tear-stained  and  dishevelled  though  she  was,  and 


GABRIEL,    GOOD    SAMARITAN  187 

soiled  by  marks  of  drink  and  debauchery,  Gabriel  saw 
she  must  once  have  been  very  beautiful  and  still  was 
comely. 

"Well,"  he  asked.    "Aren't  you  going  to  tell  me?'' 

"Tell  you?"  she  repeated.  "I— oh,  I  can't!  Not  in 
front  of  all  them  men!" 

"Very  well!"  said  he,  "walk  with  me,  and  give  me 
your  story.  Will  you  do  that  ?  At  all  events,  you  mustn't 
stay  here,  making  a  disturbance  on  the  highway.  If  you 
knew  the  police  as  well  as  I  do,  you'd  understand  that!" 

"You're  right,  friend,"  said  she,  hoarsely.  "I'm  on, 
now.  Come  along  then — I'll  tell  you.  It  ain't  much  to 
tell;  but  it's  a  lot  tome!" 

She  glanced  at  the  curious  faces  of  the  watchers,  then 
turned  and  followed  Gabriel,  who  was  already  walking 
up  the  alley,  toward  the  brighter  lights  of  Stuart  Street. 
For  a  moment,  one  or  two  of  the  men  hesitated  as  though 
undecided  whether  or  not  to  follow  after;  but  one  back 
ward  look  by  Gabriel  instantly  dispelled  any  desire  to 
intrude.  And  as  Gabriel  and  the  woman  turned  into  the 
street,  the  little  knot  of  curiosity-seekers  dissolved  into 
its  component  atoms,  and  vanished. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 
THE  TRAP  is  SPRUNG. 

T — it's  all  along  o'  that  there  Mr.  Micolo !"  the 
woman  suddenly  exclaimed,  uHim  an'  his  rent- 
bill!  if  he'd  ha'  let  me  in,  there,  tonight,  I  could  ha'  got 
Ed's  things  an'  then  started  to  my  sister's,  out  to  Scotts- 
ville.  But  he  wouldn't.  He  claimed  they  was  two-seventy- 
five  still  owin',  and  I  didn't  have  but  about  fifty  cents,  so  1 
couldn't  pay  it.  So  he  wouldn't  let  me  in.  Natchally, 
anybody'd  feel  bad,  like  that,  'specially  when  a  man  told 
'em  he'd  hold  their  kid's  clothes  an'  things  till  they  paid 
— which  they  couldn't!" 

"Naturally,  of  course,"  answered  Gabriel,  rather  dazed 
by  this  sudden  burst  of  details,  with  which  she  seemed  to 
think  he  should  already  be  quite  familiar — details  all 
sordid  and  commonplace,  through  which  he  seemed  to 
perceive,  dimly  as  in  a  dark  glass,  some  mean  and  ugly 
tragedy  of  poverty  and  ignorance  and  sin. 

"Are  you  hungry?"  he  asked,  all  at  once.  "If  so,  come 
in  here,  where  we  can  talk  quietly  and  get  things 
straight."  He  pointed  at  a  cheap  restaurant,  across  the 
street. 

"Hungry?  Gord,  yes!"  she  exclaimed.  Only  I — I 
wouldn't  ask,  if  I  fell  on  the  sidewalk !  Fifty  cents — yes, 
I  got  that  much,  but  I  been  tryin'  to  get  enough  to  pay 
Mr.  Micolo,  an'  get  hold  of  Ed's  things,  an' " 

"All  right,  forget  that,  now,"  commanded  Gabriel.    He 


THE   TRAP    IS    SPRUNG  189 

took  her  by  the  arm  and  piloted  her  across  the  thorough 
fare,  then  into  the  dingy  hash-house  and  to  a  table  in  a 
far  corner.  A  few  minutes  later,  pretty  much  every 
thing  on  the  bill  of  fare  \vas  before  them  on  the  greasy 
table. 

"Not  a  word  till  you're  satisfied,"  directed  Armstrong. 
"I'll  just  take  a  little  bread  and  coffee,  to  keep  you  com 
pany." 

The  woman  adequately  proved  her  statement  that  she 
was  hungry.  Rarely  had  Gabriel  seen  anybody  eat  with 
such  ravenous  appetite.  He  watched  her  with  satisfac 
tion,  and  when  she  could  consume  no  more,  smiled  as  he 
asked : 

"Now,  then,  feel  better?  If  so,  let's  tackle  the  next 
problem.  What's  your  grief?" 

The  woman  stared  at  him  a  long  moment  before  she 
made  reply.  Then  she  exclaimed  suddenly : 

"You  ain't  no  kind  of  'bull,'  are  you?  Nor  plain- 
clothes  man?" 

Gabriel  shook  his  head. 

"No,"  said  he,  "nothing  of  that  kind.  You  can  trust 
me.  Let's  have  the  story." 

"Hm!  It  ain't  much,  I  s'pose/'  she  answered  still 
half-suspiciously,  "Bill  and  me  was  livin'  together,  that's 
all.  No,  not  married,  nor  nothin' — but " 

"All  right.    Goon." 

"That  was  last  winter.  When  the  kid  happened — Ed, 
you  know — Bill,  he  got  sore,  an'  beat  it.  Then  I — I 
went  on  the  street,  to  keep  Ed.  Nothin'  else  to  do,  Mis 
ter,  so  help  me,  an' " 

"Never  mind,  I  understand,"  said  Gabriel.  "What 
next?" 


190  THE     AIR     TRUST 

"And  after  that,  I  gets  sick.  You  know.  Almost  right 
away.  So  I  has  to  go  to  St.  Luke's  hospital.  I  leaves 
Ed  with  Mrs.  McCane,  at  the  same  house.  That  place 
in  the  alley,  you  know.  Well,  when  I  gets  out,  the  boy's 
dead.  An'  they  never  even  tells  me,  till  I  goes  back !  An' 
I  can't  even  get  his  things.  Because  why?  Mrs.  Mc- 
Cane's  gone,  Gord  knows  where,  an*  Mr.  Micolo  says  I 
still  owe  two-seventy-five.  I  want  to  get  down  there  to 
Scottsville,  to  my  sister's;  but  curse  me  if  I'll  go  till  I  pay 
that  devil  an'  get  them  clothes!" 

A  sudden  savage  light  in  her  blurred  eyes  betrayed  the 
passion  of  the  mother-love,  through  all  the  filth  and  soil- 
ure  of  her  degradation.  Gabriel  felt  his  heart  deeply 
moved.  He  bent  toward  her,  across  the  table,  touched 
her  hand  and  asked : 

"Will  you  accept  five  dollars,  to  pay  this  man  and  get 
you  down  to  Scottsville?" 

"Huh?"  she  queried,  gazing  at  him  with  vacant,  un 
comprehending  eyes. 

He  repeated  his  query.  Then,  as  he  saw  the  slow  tears 
start  and  roll  down  her  wan  cheeks,  he  felt  a  greater  joy 
within  his  breast  than  if  the  world  and  all  its  treasures 
had  been  his. 

"Will  I  take  it?"  she  whispered.  "Gord,  will  I?  You 
bet  I  will!  That  is,  if  I  can  have  your  name,  an'  pay  it 
back  some  time?" 

He  promised,  and  wrote  it  down  for  her,  giving  as  his 
address  Socialist  Headquarters  in  Chicago.  Then,  with 
out  publicity,  he  slipped  a  V  into  her  trembling  hand. 

"Come  on,"  said  he.    "That's  all  settled !" 

He  paid  the  check,  and  they  went  out,  together.  For 
a  moment  they  stood  together,  undecided,  on  the  sidewalk. 


THE    TRAP    IS    SPRUNG  191 

"Couldn't  I  get  them  things  to-night,  an'  start?"  asked 
she,  eagerly.  "There's  a  train  at  1 1  :o8,  on  the  B.  R. 
&  P." 

"All  right,"  he  assented.  "Can  you  see  this  Micolo, 
now?  It's  after  ten." 

"Oh,  that  don't  make  no  difference,"  she  answered. 
"He  runs  a  pawnshop  over  here  on  Dexter  Street,  two 
blocks  east.  He'll  be  open  till  midnight,  easy,  tomorrow 
bein'  the  Fourth." 

"Come  on,  then,"  said  Gabriel.  "I'll  see  you  through 
the  whole  business,  and  onto  the  train.  Maybe  I  can  help 
you,  all  along." 

Without  another  word  she  started,  with  Gabriel  at  her 
side.  They  traversed  the  main  street,  two  blocks,  then 
turned  to  the  left  down  a  narrower,  darker  one. 

"Here's  Micolo's."  said  she,  pausing  at  a  doorway. 
Gabriel  nodded.  "All  right,"  he  answered.  He  had  not 
noted,  nor  did  he  dream,  that,  at  the  corner  behind  them, 
two  slinking,  sneaking  figures  were  now  watching  his 
every  move. 

The  woman  turned  the  knob,  and  entered.  Gabriel 
followed. 

"It's  on  the  second  floor,"  said  she.  Gabriel  saw  a 
sign,  on  the  landing:  "S.  L.  Micolo,  Pawn  Broker,"  and 
motioned  her  to  precede  him. 

In  a  minute  they  had  reached  the  upper  hallway.  The 
woman  opened  another  door.  The  room,  inside,  was 
dark. 

"This  way,"  said  she.  "He's  in  the  inside  office,  I 
guess.  The  light  must  ha'  gone  out  here,  some  way  or 
other." 

Gabriel  hesitated.      Some  inkling,  some   vague   intui- 


192  THE     AIR     TRUST 

tion  all  at  once  had  come  upon  him,  that  all  was  not 
well.  At  his  elbow  some  invisible  force  seemed  plucking. 
"Come  away!  Come  back,  before  it  is  too  late!"  some 
ghostly  voice  seemed  calling  in  his  ear. 

But  still,  he  did  not  fully  understand.  Still  he  re 
mained  there,  his  mind  obsessed  by  the  plausibility  of 
the  woman's  story  and  by  the  pity  he  so  keenly  felt. 

And  now  he  heard  her  voice  again : 

"Mr.  Micolo!    Oh,  Mr.  Micolo!    Where  are  you?" 

Striking  a  match,  he  advanced  into  the  room. 

"Any  gas  here?"  he  asked,  peering  about  for  a  burner. 

Suddenly  he  started  with  violent  emotion.  Behind  him, 
in  some  unaccountable  way,  the  door  had  been  closed. 
He  heard  a  key  turn,  softly. 

"What— what's  this?"  he  exclaimed.  He  heard  the 
woman  moving  about,  somewhere  in  the  gloom.  "See 
here!"  he  cried.  "What  kind  of  a ?" 

The  match  burned  brightly,  all  at  once.  He  peered 
about  him,  wide-eyed. 

"This  is  no  office!"  shouted  he.  "Here,  you!  What's 
the  meaning  of  this?  This  is  a  bed-room!" 

Sudden  realization  of  the  trap  stunned  and  sickened 
him. 

"God !  They've  got  me !  Flint  and  Waldron — they've 
landed  me,  at  last !"  he  choked.  "But— but  not  till  I've 
broken  a  few  heads,  by  God !" 

The  match  fell  from  his  burnt  fingers.  Whirling  to 
ward  the  door,  he  rained  powerful  kicks  upon  it.  He 
would  get  out,  he  must  get  out,  at  all  hazards ! 

Suddenly  the  woman  began  to  scream,  with  harsh  and 
piercing  cries  that  seemed  to  rip  the  very  atmosphere. 


Aiming   at  the   base   of  the   skull   she   struck. 


THE    TRAP    IS    SPRUNG  193 

At  the  third  scream,  or  the  fourth,  the  key  was  turned 
and  the  door  jerked  open. 

In  its  aperture,  three  men  stood — the  two  who  had 
been  so  long  trailing  Gabriel,  and  a  policeman,  burly,  red- 
jowled,  big-paunched. 

Gabriel  stared  at  them.  His  mouth  opened,  then  closed 
again  without  a  word.  As  well  for  a  trapped  animal  to 
make  explanations  to  the  Indian  hunter,  as  for  him  to 
tell  these  men  the  truth.  The  truth?  They  knew  the 
truth ;  and  they  were  there  to  crucify  him.  He  read  it 
in  their  cruel,  eager  eyes. 

The  woman  had  stopped  screaming  now,  and  was  weep 
ing  with  abandon,  pouring  forth  a  tale  of  insults  and 
abuse  and  robbery,  with  hysterical  sobs. 

Full  in  the  faces  of  the  three  men  Gabriel  sneered. 

''You've  done  a  good  job  of  it,  this  time,  you  skunks!" 
he  gibed.  "I'm  on.  You'll  get  me,  in  the  end;  but  not 
just  yet.  The  first  man  through  this  door  gets  his  head 
broken — and  that  goes,  too!" 

With  a  snarl  of  "You  damned  white  slaver!"  the  of 
ficer  raised  his  night-stick  and  hurled  himself  at  Gabriel. 

Gabriel  ducked  and  planted  a  terrific  leii-hander  on 
the  "bull's"  ear.  Roaring,  the  majesty  of  the  law 
careened  against  the  bed,  crashed  the  flimsy  thing  to 
wreckage  and  went  down.- 

Then,  fighting  back  into  the  gloom  of  the  trap,  Gabriel 
engaged  the  two  detectives.  For  a  moment  he  held  them. 
One  went  to  the  floor  with  an  uppercut  under  the  chin; 
but  came  back.  The  other  landed  hard  on  Gabriel's  jaw. 

He  turned  to  strike  down,  again,  the  first  of  the  two. 
He  heard  the  bed  creaking,  and  saw  the  policeman  strug 
gling  to  arise.  In  a  whirlwind  of  blows,  the  second  detec- 


194  THE     AIR     TRUST 

tive  flailed  at  him,  striving  to  beat  down  his  guard  and 
floor  him  with  a  vicious  rib- jolt. 

"All's  fair,  here!"  thought  Gabriel,  snatching  up  a 
chair.  For  a  moment  he  brandished  it  on  high.  With 
this  weapon,  he  knew — though  final  defeat  was  inevitable, 
when  reinforcements  should  arrive — he  could  sweep  a 
clear  space. 

Perhaps  he  might  even  yet  escape!  He  heard  feet 
trampling  on  the  stairs,  and  his  heart  died  within  him. 
Well,  even  though  escape  were  impossible,  he  would  fight 
to  a  finish  and  die  game,  if  die  he  must ! 

Down  swung  the  chair,  and  round,  crashing  to  ruin  as 
it  struck  the  policeman  who  was  just  getting  to  his  feet 
again.  Oaths,  cries,  screams  made  the  place  hideous. 
Dust  rose,  and  blood  began  to  flow. 

Armed  now  with  one  leg  of  the  chair,  Gabriel  re 
treated;  and  as  he  went,  he  hurled  the  bitterness  of  all 
his  scorn  and  hate  upon  these  vile  conspirators. 

And  as  he  flayed  them  with  his  tongue,  he  struck ;  and 
like  Samson  against  the  Philistines,  he  did  great  execu 
tion. 

Like  Samson,  too,  he  lost  his  power  through  a  woman's 
treachery.  For,  even  as  the  attackers  seemed  to  fall  back, 
shattered  and  at  a  loss  before  such  fury  and  tremendous 
strength,  behind  Gabriel  the  woman  rose,  a  laugh  of 
malice  on  her  lips,  the  policeman's  long  and  heavy  night 
stick  in  her  hand. 

A  moment  she  poised  it,  crouching  as  he — seeing  her 
not — swung  his  weapon  and  hurled  his  defiance  at  the 
baffled  men  in  front. 

Then,  aiming  at  the  base  of  the  skull,  she  struck. 

Sudden  bright  lights  spangled  the  darkness,  for  Gab- 


THE   TRAP    IS    SPRUNG  195 

riel.     Everything  whirled  about,  in  dizzying  confusion. 
A  strange,  far  roaring  sounded  in  his  ears. 

Then  he  fell ;  and  oblivion  took  him  to  its  blessed  peace 
and  rest ;  and  all  grew  still  and  black. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 
THE  BEAST  GLOATS. 

Gawd's  sake,  let's  have  a  light  here,  somebody !" 
panted  the  dishevelled  policeman.  Outside,  the 
ringing  of  a  gong  became  audible.  Then  came  a  clat 
tering  of  hoofs,  as  the  police-patrol,  nicely-timed  by  the 
conspirators,  and  summoned  by  a  confederate,  drew  up 
at  the  box  on  the  corner. 

Somebody  struck  another  match,  and  a  raw  gas-light 
flared.  From  the  hallway,  two  or  three  others  crowded 
into  the  wrecked  room.  Disjointed  exclamations,  oaths 
and  curses  intermingled  with  harsh  laughter. 

The  woman — Lillian  Rafter,  probably  the  finest  actress 
and  stool-pigeon  in  the  whole  detective  world  of  graft 
and  crookedness — lighted  a  cigarette  at  the  gas-burner, 
and  laughed  with  triumph. 

"Some  make-up,  eh  kid?"  she  demanded  of  the  taller 
detective,  who  was  now  nursing  a  bad  "shiner,"  as  a  black 
eye  is  known  in  the  under-world,  and  whose  face  was 
battered  to  a  bleeding  pulp.  "Believe  me,  as  a  job,  thL 
is  some  job!  From  start  to  finish,  a  pippin.  He  was 
bound  to  fall  for  it  though.  No  help  for  him.  Even  if 
he  hadn't  butted  into  the  'plant'  we  fixed  for  him  in  the 
alley,  there,  I  could  have  braced  him  in  the  street  with 
my  tale  of  woe.  He  was  just  bound  to  be  'it,'  this  time. 
We  had  him  going,  all  ways  for  Sunday!" 

Scornfully  the  woman  Gabriel  had  befriended  in  her 


THE     BEAST     GLOATS  197 

seeming  misery,  spat  at  him  as  he  lay  there  stunned  and 
scarcely  breathing  on  the  dirty  floor. 

"And  just  pipe  this,  will  you,  too?"  she  exulted,  hold 
ing  up  the  five-dollar  bill  he  had  given  her.  "And  this?" 
She  exhibited  his  name  and  address,  written  on  a  card. 
"In  his  own  writing,  boys.  As  evidence  to  hold  him  on  a 
white  slave  charge,  is  this  some  evidence  or  isn't  it?" 

"Oh,  we'll  hold  him,  all  right!"  growled  the  other  de 
tective,  whose  right  arm  dangled  limp,  where  the  chair 

had  struck  him.  "The of  a !  He'll  go 

up  for  a  finif,  a  five-spot,  or  I'm  a  liar!  And  once  we 
get  him  behind  bars,  good-night  !'*' 

He  deliberately  drew  back  his  heavy  boot  and  kicked 
Gabriel  full  in  the  face. 

"You !"  he  cursed.  "Try  to  bean  me, 

will  you?  Damn  you!  You've  made  your  last  soap-box 
spiel!" 

"Come  on,  now,  boys,  out  with  him,  an'  no  more  rag- 
chewin'!"  the  policeman  exclaimed.  "Git  him  in  the 
wagon,  an'  away,  before  a  gang  piles  in  here!  You, 
Caffery,  take  his  feet.  I'll  manage  his  head.  Jesus,  but 
he's  some  big  guy,  though,  the of  a !" 

Together,  the  battered  policeman  and  the  detective  who 
still  had  some  strength  left  in  him,  raised  Gabriel's  limp 
body  and  carried  it  from  the  room.  The  woman,  mean 
while,  stood  there  inhaling  cigarette-smoke  and  laughing 
viciously  to  herself. 

"You  easy  mutt!"  she  exclaimed.  "Dead  baby,  room- 
rent  due,  wanted  to  get  home  to  sister — and  you  fell  for 
that  old  gag  with  whiskers  on  it !  You're  some  wise  guy 
all  right,  all  right,  I  don't  think.  Well,  as  a  stall  it  was 
a  beaut.  And  I  must  say  I  never  screamed  better  in  all 


198  THE     AIR     TRUST 

my  life.  And  that  wallop  I  handed  out,  was  a  peach.  If 
I  don't  pull  down  five  hundred  for  this  night's  work " 

"Shut  up,  you !"  snarled  Caffery,  as  he  turned  into 

the  stairway.  "Keep  that  lip  o'  yours  quiet,  will  you, 
or " 

The  woman  stared  at  him  a  moment,  then  laughed  in 
solently  and  snapped  her  smoke-yellowed  fingers  at  him 
in  defiance. 

"Mind  you  show  up  in  court,  in  the  mornin' !"  panted 
the  officer,  staggering  downstairs  under  the  weight  01 
Gabriel's  huge  shoulders. 

"Better  arrest  her  now,"  suggested  Caffery,  "an'  hold 
her." 

"You  will,  like  Hell !"  retorted  the  woman. 

"Shhh !  In  one  door  an'  out  the  other/'  the  second  de 
tective  whispered  in  her  ear,  as  she  stood  there  in  the 
doorway.  "I'll  see  to  it  you  get  fifty  extra  for  that!" 

"Oh,  if  that's  the  game,  fine  business!"  she  smiled. 
"Go  to  it — I'm  your  huckleberry!" 

Thus  it  befell  that,  while  a  large  and  growing  crowd 
observed,  under  the  arc-light  on  the  corner — a  crowd 
where  no  fewer  than  six  reporters,  all  duly  tipped  off  in 
advance,  were  taking  notes — Gabriel  Armstrong,  the  So 
cialist  speaker  and  leader,  was  bundled,  unconscious,  into 
a  patrol  wagon  of  the  City  of  Rochester;  and  with  him, 
a  drunken-acting  harlot,  babbling  charges  of  white-slave 
extortion  and  violence  against  him;  and  with  them  both, 
several  witnesses,  who  would  have  sworn  that  Heaven 
was  Hell,  for  five  dollars  cash  in  hand. 

Thus  was  the  stage  set,  for  the  next  session  of  the 
honorable  court.  Thus  were  the  wires  pulled.  Thus,  the 
prison  doors  were  swung  wide  open,  and,  above  all,  the 


THE     BEAST     GLOATS  199 

honor  and  the  reputation  of  a  man  swept  to  the  garbage- 
heaps  of  life. 

True,  at  the  morrow's  great  mass-meeting,  there  were 
destined  to  be  protests  and  calls  for  investigation.  The 
Socialist  press  was  destined  to  take  it  up,  defend  him  and 
demand  the  truth.  But,  swamped  by  a  perfectly  over 
whelming  capitalist  press,  not  only  naturally  hostile  but 
in  this  case  already  heavily  subsidized;  shattered  by  the 
close-knit,  circumstantial  evidence ;  hamstrung  and  hamp 
ered  in  every  way  by  the  power  of  unlimited  money  and 
Tammany  pull,  the  Socialists  might  as  well  have  tried 
to  sweep  back  the  sea  with  a  broom  as  save  this  man 
from  legal  crucifixion.  Worse  still,  they  themselves,  and 
the  beaten  strikers  with  whom  they  had  been  fraternizing, 
got  a  black  eye  in  the  affair;  and  many  an  editorial  col 
umn,  many  a  pulpit,  unctuously  discoursed  thereon.  Many 
an  anti-Socialist  thug  and  grafter,  loud-mouthed  and 
blatant,  bellowed  revamped  platitudes  of  "immorality" 
and  "breaking  up  the  home,"  and  the  "nation  of  father 
less  children/'  pointing  at  Gabriel  Armstrong  as  a  shin 
ing  example  of  Socialist  hypocrisy  and  filth. 

Press,  law,  church,  capitalism  itself  nailed  this  man  and 
the  movement  he  stood  for,  to  the  cross.  And  the  pimps 
and  parasites  of  the  private  detective  agency  chuckled  in 
their  well-paid  glee.  The  woman,  Gabriel's  betrayer, 
counted  her  "thirty  pieces  of  silver"  and  laughed  in  the 
foul  dark.  The  police  cut  a  fine  melon  secretly  handed 
them  by  Flint ;  and  so,  too,  did  the  local  papers  and  more 
than  one  local  pulpit. 

So,  in  Gabriel's  grief  and  woe  and  desolation,  as  he  sat 
in  his  grim  cell  with  aching  head,  bruised  face  and  bleed 
ing  heart,  with  all  his  plans  now  broken,  with  the  very 


200  THE     AIR     TRUST 

soul  within  him  dead — in  this  grief  and  anguish,  I  say, 
the  foul  harpy-brood  of  Capitalism  revelled  and  rioted 
like  maggots  in  carrion. 

None  more  viciously  than  old  Flint,  himself.  None 
with  more  brutal  joy,  more  savage  satisfaction.  One  of 
the  culminant  moments  of  his  life,  he  felt,  was  on  the 
evening  after  the  dastardly  plot  had  been  carried  to  its 
putrid  conclusion. 

Opening  the  Rochester  "News-Intelligencer'*  which 
Slade  had  sent  him,  his  glittering  eyes  seemed  to  sparkle 
joy  as  a  blue-penciled  column  met  his  gaze. 

Eagerly  he  read  it  all,  every  word,  and  weighed  it,  and 
re-read  it,  as  men  do  when  news  is  dear  to  their  souls. 
Already,  through  the  New  York  papers  he  had  got  the 
essentials  of  the  affair.  Already,  by  long  distance  'phone 
he  had  received  the  outlines  of  the  news  from  Slade,  as 
well  as  a  code  telegram  of  more  than  500  words,  giving 
him  additional  details.  But  this  paper  especially  pleased 
him.  The  other  Rochester  sheets,  which  Slade  would 
send  as  fast  as  they  appeared,  he  already  was  looking  for 
ward  to,  with  keenest  pleasure. 

"Ah!  This  is  what  I  call  efficiency!"  he  exclaimed, 
settling  himself  in  his  big  chair,  adjusting  the  pince-nez 
on  his  hawk-bill  and  preparing  to  read  the  column  for  the 
third  time.  "The  way  this  thing  was  planned  and  carried 
out,  and  the  manner  in  which  Slade  has  managed  to  get  it 
played  up  in  the  papers,  proves  to  me  he's  a  general  in  his 
line,  a  true  Napoleon,  I  may  safely  intrust  any  affair  of 
this  sort  to  him  and  his  agency.  No  fee  of  his  shall  ever 
be  questioned;  and  as  for  bonuses — well,  he  shall  have 
no  reason  to  complain.  An  admirable  man,  in  every  way 
— a  wonderful  organization !  With  men  and  agencies  like 


THE     BEAST     GLOATS  201 

these  at  work  in  our  interests,  what  have  we,  really,  to 
be  uneasy  about?" 

Smacking  his  mental  lips,  if  I  may  be  pardoned  the 
phrase,  he  once  more  slowly  read  the  delightful,  gratifying 
news: 

SOCIALIST  WHITE-SLAVER! 
Rotten  Affair  Unearthed  "by  Police! 

Gabriel  Armstrong,  Socialist  Leader.  Caught  With  the 
Goods! !  ! 

Rochester,  July  4. 

"In  one  of  the  most  sensational  raids  ever  made  in  this 
city,  by  the  vice  squad,  under  the  auspices  of  the  Purity 
League,  what  is  believed  to  be  a  well-organized  white-slave 
business  was  unearthed  last  night.  The  leader  and  brains 
of  the  association,  Gabriel  Armstrong,  a  Socialist  speaker 
and<  worker  of  national  prominence,  was  arrested,  and  is 
now  lodged  in  Police  Headquarters,  with  serious  charges 
pending. 

"The  arrest  was  made  as  a  result  of  the  keen  work  of 
Officer  Michael  P.  Duffey,  sergeant  of  the  vice  squad.  Hear 
ing  screams  in  the  assignation  house  at  42A  Belding  street, 
he  made  his  way  up  stairs,  accompanied  by  two  or  three 
citizens.  The  screams  were  coming  from  a  rocm  on  the 
second  floor.  Duffey  promptly  battered  the  door  down 
only  to  be  met  by  a  furious  assult  from  Armstrong,  who 
was  intoxicated  and  extremely  violent. 

"A  savage  hand-to-hand  struggle  took  place,  in  which 
furniture  was  broken,  the  policeman  badly  injured  and 
two  of  the  volunteers  knocked  out.  Armstrong  was  finally 
subdued,  however,  by  the  jiu-jitsu  method,  in  which  Duf 
fey  is  an  expert,  and  was  lodged  in  the  Central  Station, 
together  with  the  woman. 

"According  to  her  statement,  the  man,  Armstrong,  had 
not  only  been  guilty  of  grossly  immoral  practices  with  her, 
but  had  also  been  trying  to  force  her  to  share  with  him 
the  proceeds  of  her  life  of  shame,  thus  making  out  against 
him  a  clear  case  under  the  Mann  White-Slave  Traffic  law. 
She  has  material  evidence  of  this  fact — money  which  he  had 
given  her,  to  finance  her  till  she  could  begin  bringing  in 
revenue  to  him,  and  also  his  name  and  address,  written  by 
his  own  hand.  A  significant  fact  is  that  the  address  given 
by  this  white  slaver  is  Socialist  headquarters,  in  Chicago. 
The  police  are  now  working  on  the  theory  that  the  entire 
Socialist  organization  is  honeycombed  with  this  traffic, 
and  that  me  Socialist  movement  is  only  a  blind  to  cover 
a  wholesale  distribution  of  women  for  immoral  purposes. 


202  THE     AIR     TRUST 

Drastic  Federal  action  against  the  Socialist  Party  is  now 
being  considered. 

"Still  further  and  more  sensational  facts  are  expected  to 
develop  at  the  preliminary  hearing,  which  will  take  place 
tomorrow  morning.  In  case  Armstrong  is  bound  over  to 
the  Grand  Jury,  and  convicted,  he  may  get  a  neavy  fine 
and  as  much  as  five  years  in  a  Federal  penitentiary.  He 
is  described  as  being  a  surly,  low  type,  reticent  and  vin 
dictive,  of  vicious  characteristics  and  mentally  defective. 
The  local  Socialists  have  already  taken  up  arms  in  his 
defense,  as  was  to  be  expected. 

"Interest  is  added  to  the  case  by  the  fact  that  Armstrong 
is  known  to  be  the  man  who,  at  the  time  of  the  recent 
automobile  accident  to  Miss  Catherine  Flint — daughter  of 
Issac  Flint,  of  Englewood,  N.  J. — gave  the  alarm.  A  theory 
is  now  being  formed  that  he  was,  in  some  way,  involved 
in  a  plot  with  Miss  Flint's  chauffeur  to  wreck  the  machine 
and  share  a  big  reward  for  rescuing  the  girl.  The  plot, 
however,  evidently  miscarried,  for  the  chauffeur  was  killed, 
and  Armstrong,  after  giving  the  alarm,  feared  to  divulge 
his  identity  but  fled  in  disguise. 

"Public  interest  is  greatly  aroused  in  this  matter.  And 
if,  as  now  seems  positively  certain,  this  arrest  and  forth 
coming  conviction  break  up  the  vicious  white-slave  gang 
for  some  time  operating  in  Rochester  and  Ontario  Beach, 
the  public  will  have  a  still  greater  debt  of  gratitude  toward 
the  Purity  League,  the  Vice  Squad  and  the  untiring  efforts 
and  bravery  of  Sergeant  Duifey." 

"That,  ah  that,"  remarked  old  Flint,  as  he  finished  his 
last  reading,  "is  what  I  call  literature!  It  may  not  be 
Scott  or  Shelley  or  Dickens,  but  it's  got  far  more  than 
they  ever  had — tremendous  value  to — er — to  the  right 
ful  masters  of  society.  I  dare  say  that  this  article  and 
also  others  like  it  that  are  bound  to  be  printed  during 
the  trial  and  after,  will  do  more  to  secure  our  position 
in  society  than  a  whole  army  with  machine  guns.  Social 
ism,  eh?  After  this  campaign  gets  through,  by  God, 
we'll  sweep  up  the  leavings  in  a  dustpan  and  throw  them 
out  the  window!" 

Again  he  surveyed  the  article,  smiling  thinly. 

"Literature,  yes,"  he  repeated.     "The  writer  of  those 


THE     BEAST     GLOATS  203 

lines,  and  the  master-minds  who  engineered  the  whole 
affair,  must  and  shall  be  liberally  rewarded.  Editors, 
preachers,  writers,  they're  all  on  our  side.  All  safe  and 
sane — that  is,  nearly  all — enough,  at  any  event,  to 
assure  our  safety.  I  rejoice  that  I  have  lived  to  see  this 
day!" 

He  turned  the  sheets  of  the  paper,  to  see  if  any  other 
notice  of  the  affair  was  printed;  and  as  he  looked,  he 
pondered. 

"Imagine  the  effect  of  this,  on  Kate!"  thought  he. 
"It  will  be  just  as  I  planned  it.  Nothing  will  be  left  in 
her  mind  now,  but  loathing,  hate  and  rage  against  this 
man.  In  two  days,  she  and  Waldron  will  have  patched 
up  their  little  difference,  and  all  will  be  well.  A  master 
stroke  on  my  part,  eh?  Yes,  yes  indeed,  a  master 
stroke!" 

His  eye  caught  another  blue-pencilling. 

"Editorial,  eh?"  said  he,  adjusting  his  glasses.  "Bet 
ter  and  better!  This  affair  will  sweep  those  trouble 
makers  off  the  map,  or  I'm  a  beggar!" 

Then,  with  the  keenest  of  satisfaction,  he  focussed  his 
attention  on  the  sapient  editorial : 

SOCIALISM   UNVEILED. 

The  arrest  and  impending  conviction  of  Gabriel  Arm 
strong,  the  noted  Socialist  leader,  on  a  white-slave  traffic 
charge,  will  do  much  to  set  all  sane  thinkers  right  in  re 
gard  to  this  whole  matter  of  Socialist  ethics.  Socialists, 
as  we  have  all  heard,  contend  that  their  system  of  thought 
teaches  a  high  and  pure  form  of  morality.  How  will  they 
square  this  assertion  with  the  hard,  cold  facts,  as  brought 
to  light  in  this  most  revolting  case? 

Much  more  seems  to  lie  beneath  the  surface  than  at 
first  sight  appears.  Though  we  desire  to  suspend  judg 
ment  until  all  the  data  are  known,  it  appears  conclusively 
proved  that  Armstrong  is  but  one  of  a  band  of  white-slavers 


204  THE     AIR     TRUST 

operating  through  the  organization  of,  and  with  the  con 
sent  of  the  Socialist  party,  or  at  least  of  its  responsible 
officials. 

If  this  prove  to  be  the  case,  it  will  substantitate  the  sus 
picion  long  felt  in  many  quarters  that  this  whole  move 
ment,  ostensibly  political,  is  really  a  menace  to  the  moral 
and  social  welfare  of  the  nation.  A  foreign  importation, 
openly  standing  against  the  home,  the  family  and  religion, 
may  well  be  expected  to  foster  such  crimes  and  to  be  a 
"culture-medium"  for  the  growth  of  such  vile  microbes  as 
this  man  Armstrong,  and  others  of  his  kind. 

Turn  on  the  light!  Bring  the  social  antiseptics!  Let 
all  the  facts  be  established;  and  when  known,  if — as  we 
anticipate — they  prove  this  nasty  conspiracy,  let  us  make 
an  end,  now  and  forever,  to  this  un-American,  immoral  and 
filthy  thing,  Socialism!  To  this  object  this  paper  now  and 
henceforth  pledges  its  policy;  and  all  decent  publications, 
all  citizens  who  love  their  country,  their  God,  their  homes, 
their  flag,  will  join  with  it  in  a  nation-wide  crusade  to 
choke  this  slimy  monster  of  Anarchy  and  Free-love,  and 
fling  it  back  into  the  Pit  where  it  belongs. 

Long  live  religion,  purity  and  the  flag!  Down  with 
Socialism! 

Flint  regarded  this  masterpiece  with  an  approving  eye. 
Then,  chuckling  to  himself,  he  arose  and  with  slow  steps 
advanced  toward  the  dining-room  where  already  Cath 
erine  was  awaiting  him. 

"Now,"  he  murmured  to  himself,  and  smiled  thinly, 
"now  for  a  little  scene  with  Kate!" 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 
CATHERINE'S  SUPREME  DECISION. 

meal  was  almost  at  an  end — silently,  like  all 
their  hours  spent  together,  now — before  the  old 
man  sprang  his  coup.  It  was  characteristic  of  him  to 
wait  thus,  to  hold  his  fire  till  what  he  conceived  to  be 
the  opportune  moment;  never  to  act  prematurely,  under 
any  circumstances  whatever. 

"By  the  way,  Kate,"  he  remarked,  casually,  when  cof 
fee  had  been  served  and  he  had  motioned  the  butlers  out 
of  the  room,  "by  the  way,  I've  been  rather  badly  disap 
pointed,  to-day.  Did  you  know  that?" 

"No,  father,"  she  answered.  She  never  called  him 
"daddy,"  now.  "No,  I'm  sorry  to  hear  it.  What's  gone 
wrong  ?" 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment  before  replying,  as  though 
to  gauge  her  mind  and  the  effect  his  announcement 
might  have.  Very  charming  she  looked,  that  evening, 
in  a  crepe  de  Chine  gown  with  three-quarter  lace  sleeves 
and  an  Oriental  girdle — a  wonderful  Nile-green  creation, 
very  simple  (she  had  told  herself)  yet  of  staggering  cost. 
A  single  white  rose  graced  her  hair.  The  low-cut  neck 
of  the  gown  revealed  a  full,  strong  bosom.  Around  her 
throat  she  wore  a  fine  gold  chain,  with  a  French  2O-franc 
piece  and  her  Vassar  Phi  Beta  Kappa  key  attached — 
the  only  pendants  she  cared  for.  The  gold  coin  spoke  to 
her  of  the  land  of  her  far  ancestry,  a  land  oft  visited  by 


206  THE    AIR    TRUST 

her  and  greatly  loved;  the  gold  key  reminded  her  of 
college,  and  high  rank  taken  in  studies  there. 

Old  Flint  noted  some  of  these  details  as  he  sat  look 
ing  at  her  across  the  white  and  gleaming  table,  where 
silver  and  gold  plate,  cut  glass  and  flowers  and  fine 
Sevres  china  all  combined  to  make  a  picture  of  splendor 
such  as  the  average  working-man  or  his  wife  has  never 
even  dreamed  of  or  imagined;  a  picture  the  merest  com 
monplace,  however,  to  Flint  and  Catherine. 

"A  devilish  fine-looking  girl!"  thought  he,  eyeing  his 
daughter  with  approval.  "She'd  grace  any  board  in  the 
world,  whether  billionaire's  or  prince's!  Waldron,  old 
man,  you'll  never  be  able  to  thank  me  sufficiently  for 
what  I'm  going  to  do  for  you  tonight — never,  that  is, 
unless  you  help  me  make  the  Air  Trust  the  staggering 
success  I  think  you  can,  and  give  me  the  boost  I  need 
to  land  the  whole  damned  world  as  my  own  private 
property!" 

He  chuckled  dryly  to  himself,  then  drew  the  paper 
from  his  pocket. 

"Well,  father,  what's  gone  wrong?"  asked  Kale,  again. 
"Your  disappointment — what  was  it?" 

She  spoke  without  animation,  tonelessly,  in  a  flat,  even 
voice.  Since  that  night  when  her  father  had  tried  to 
force  Waldron  upon  her,  and  had  taunted  her  with  lov 
ing  the  vagabond  (as  he  said)  who  had  rescued  her, 
something  seemed  to  have  been  broken,  in  her  manner; 
some  spring  of  action  had  snapped;  some  force  was 
lacking  now. 

"What's  wrong  with  me?"  asked  Flint,  trying  to  veil 
the  secret  malice  and  keen  satisfaction  that  underlay  his 
speech.  "Oh,  just  this.  You  remember  about  a  week 


CATHERINE'S  SUPREME  DECISION      207 

ago,  when  we — ah — had  that  little  talk  in  the  music 
room ?" 

"Don't,  father,  please!"  she  begged,  raising  one  strong, 
brown  hand.  "Don't  bring  that  up  again.  It's  all  over 
and  done  with,  that  matter  is.  I  beg  you,  don't  re-open 
it!" 

"I — you  misunderstand  me,  my  dear  child,"  said  Flint, 
trying  to  smile,  but  only  flashing  his  gold  tooth.  "At 
that  time  I  told  you  I  was  looking  for,  and  would  re 
ward,  if  found,  the — er — man  wrho  had  been  so  brave 
and  quick-witted  as  to  rescue  you.  You  remember?" 

"Really,  father,  I  beg  you  not  to " 

"Why  not,  pray?"  requested  Flint,  gazing  at  her 
through  his  pince-nez.  "My  intentions,  I  assure  you, 
were  most  honest  and  philanthropic.  If  I  had  found  him 
— then — I'd  have  given  him " 

"Oh,  but  he  wouldn't  have  taken  anything,  you  see!" 
the  girl  interrupted,  with  some  spirit.  "I  told  you  that, 
at  the  time.  It's  just  as  true,  now.  So  please,  father, 
let's  drop  the  question  altogether." 

"I'm  sorry  not  to  be  able  to  grant  your  request,  my 
dear,"  said  the  old  man,  with  hidden  malice.  "But 
really,  this  time,  you  must  hear  me.  My  disappointment 
arises  from  the  fact  that  I've  just  discovered  the  young 
man's  identity,  and " 

"You — you  have?"  Kate  exclaimed,  grasping  the  edge 
of  the  table  with  a  nervous  hand.  Her  father  smiled 
again,  bitterly. 

"Yes,  I  have,"  said  he,  with  slow  emphasis,  "and  I 
regret  to  say,  my  dear  child,  that  my  diagnosis  of  his 
character  is  precisely  what  I  first  thought.  Any  interest 
you  may  feel  in  that  quarter  is  being  applied  to  a  very 


208  THE     AIR     TRUST 

unworthy  object.  The  man  is  one  of  my  discharged  em 
ployees,  a  thorough  rascal  and  hard  ticket  in  every  way 
— one  of  the  lowest-bred  and  most  villainous  persons  yet 
unhung,  I  grieve  to  state.  The  fact  that  he  carried  you 
in  his  arms,  and  that  I  owe  your  preservation  to  him,  is 
one  of  the  bitterest  facts  in  my  life.  Had  it  been  any 
other  man,  no  matter  of  what  humble  birth " 

"Father!'*  she  cried,  bending  forward  and  gazing  at 
him  with  strange  eyes.  "Father!  By  what  right  and  on 
what  authority  do  you  make  these  accusations?  That 
man,  I  know,  was  all  that  innate  gentleness  and  upright 
manhood  could  make  any  man.  His  nobility  was  not  of 
wealth  or  title,  but  of " 

"Nonsense!"  Flint  interrupted.  "Nobility,  eh?  Read 
that,  will  you?" 

Leering,  despite  himself,  he  handed  the  paper  across 
the  table  to  his  daughter. 

"Those  marked  passages,"  said  he.  "And  remember, 
this  is  only  the  beginning.  Wait  till  all  the  facts  are 
known,  the  whole  conspiracy  laid  bare  and  everything 
exposed  to  public  view!  Then  tell  me,  if  you  can,  that 
he  is  poor  but  noble!  Bah!  Sunday-school  dope,  that! 
Noble,  yes!" 

Catherine  sat  there  staring  at  the  paper,  a  minute,  as 
though  quite  unable  to  decipher  a  word.  Through  a  kind 
of  wavering  mist  that  seemed  to  swim  before  her  eyes, 
she  vaguely  saw  the  words:  "Socialist  White  Slaver!" 
but  that  these  bore  any  relation  to  the  man  she  remem 
bered,  back  there  at  the  sugar-house,  had  not  yet  occur 
red  to  her  mind.  She  simply  could  not  grasp  the  sig 
nificance  of  the  glaring  headlines.  And,  turning  a  blank 
gaze  on  her  father's  face,  she  stammered : 


CATHERINE'S  SUPREME  DECISION       209 

"Why — why  do  you  give  me  this?  What  has  this  got 
to  do  with — me?  With  him?" 

"Everything !"  snarled  the  Billionaire,  violently  irri 
tated  by  his  daughter's  seeming  obtuseness.  "Every 
thing,  I  tell  you !  That  man,  that  strong  and  noble  hero 
of  yours,  is  this  man!  This  white  slaver!  This  wild 
beast — this  Socialist — this  Anarchist!  Do  you  under 
stand  now,  or  don't  you?  Do  you  grasp  the  truth  at 
last,  or  is  your  mind  incapable  of  apprehending  it?" 

He  had  risen,  and  now  was  standing  there  at  his  side 
of  the  table,  shaking  with  violent  emotion,  his  glasses 
awry,  face  wrinkled  and  drawn,  hands  twitching.  His 
daughter,  making  no  answer  to  his  taunts,  sat  with  the 
paper  spread  before  her  on  the  table.  A  wine  glass,  over 
set,  had  spilled  a  red  stain — for  all  the  world  like  the 
workers'  blood,  spilled  in  war  and  industry  for  the 
greater  wealth  and  glory  of  the  masters — out  across  the 
costly  damask,  but  neither  she  nor  Flint  paid  any  heed. 

For  he  was  staring  only  at  her;  and  she,  now  having 
mastered  herself  a  little,  though  her  full  breast  still  rose 
and  fell  too  quickly,  was  struggling  to  read  the  slanderous 
lies  and  foul  libels  of  the  blue-penciled  article. 

Silently  she  read,  paling  a  little  but  otherwise  giving 
no  sign  to  show  her  father  how  the  tide  of  her  thought 
was  setting.  Twice  over  she  read  the  article ;  then,  push 
ing  the  paper  back,  looked  at  old  Flint  with  eyes  that 
seemed  to  question  his  very  soul — eyes  that  saw  the  liv 
ing  truth,  below. 

"It  is  a  lie !"  said  she,  at  last,  in  a  grave,  quiet  voice. 

"What?"  blurted  the  old  man.    "A— a  lie?" 

She  nodded. 

"Yes,"  said  she.    "A  lie." 


210  THE    AIR     TRUST 

Furious,  he  ripped  open  the  paper,  and  once  more 
shoved  it  at  her. 

"Fool!"  cried  he.  "Read  tlw.il"  And  his  shaking, 
big-knuckled  finger  tapped  the  editorial  on  "Socialism 
Unveiled." 

"No,"  she  answered,  "I  need  read  no  more.  I  know; 
I  understand!" 

"You — you  know  what?"  choked  Flint.  This  is  an 
editorial,  I  tell  you !  It  represents  the  best  thought  and 
the  most  careful  opinion  of  the  paper.  And  it  condemns 
this  man,  absolutely,  as  a  criminal  and  a  menace  to  so 
ciety.  It  denounces  him  and  his  whole  gang  of  Socialists 
or  Anarchists  or  White-slavers — they're  all  the  same 
thing — as  a  plague  to  the  world.  That's  the  editor's 
opinion;  and  remember,  he's  on  the  ground,  there.  He 
has  all  the  facts.  You — you  are  at  a  distance,  and  have 
none!  Yet  you  set  up  your  futile,  childish  opinion " 

"No  more,  father!  No  more!"  cried  Catherine,  also 
standing  up.  She  faced  him  calmly,  coldly,  magnificently. 
"You  can't  talk  to  me  this  way,  any  more.  Cannot,  and 
must  not!  As  I  see  this  thing — and  my  woman's  intui 
tion  tells  me  more  in  a  minute  than  you  can  explain 
away  in  an  hour — this  fabrication  here  has  all,  or  nearly 
all,  been  invented  and  carried  out  by  you.  For  what  rea 
son?  This — to  discredit  this  man!  To  make  me  hate 
and  loathe  him!  To  force  me  back  to  Waldron. 

'T* » 

"Stop!"  shouted  the  old  man,  in  a  well-assumed  pas 
sion.  "No  daughter  of  mine  shall  talk  to  me  this  way! 
Silence !  It  is  monstrous  and  unthinkable.  It — it  is  hor 
rible  beyond  belief !  Silence,  I  tell  you — and " 

"No,  father,  not  silence,"  she    replied,    with    perfect 


CATHERINE'S  SUPREME  DECISION       211 

poise.  "Not  silence  now,  but  speech.  Either  this  thing 
is  true  or  it  is  false.  In  either  case,  I  must  know  the 
facts.  The  papers?  No  truth  in  those!  The  finding  of 
the  courts  ?  To-day,  they  are  a  by-word  and  a  mockery ! 
All  I  can  trust  is  the  evidence  of  my  own  senses;  what 
I  hear,  and  feel,  and  see.  So  then " 

"Then?"  gulped  the  Billionaire,  holding  the  back  of 
his  chair  in  a  trembling  grasp. 

"Just  this,  father.  I'm  going  to  Rochester,  myself,  to 
investigate  this  thing,  to  see  this  man,  to  hear  his  side  of 
the  story,  to  know " 

"Do  that,"  cried  Flint  in  a  terrible  voice,  "and  you 
never  enter  these  doors  again !  From  the  minute  you 
leave  Idle  Hour  on  that  fool's  errand,  my  daughter  is 
dead  to  me,  forever !" 

Swept  clean  off  his  feet  by  rage,  as  well  as  by  the 
deadly  fear  of  what  might  happen  if  his  daughter  really 
were  to  learn  the  truth,  he  had  lost  his  head  completely. 

With  quiet  attention,  the  girl  regarded  him,  then  smiled 
inscrutably. 

"So  it  be,"  she  replied.  "Even  though  you  disinherit 
me  or  turn  me  off  with  a  penny,  my  mind  is  made  up, 
and  my  duty's  clear. 

"While  things  like  these  are  going  on  in  the  world, 
outside,  I  have  no  right  to  linger  and  to  idle  here.  I  am 
no  child,  now;  I  have  been  thinking  of  late,  reading, 
learning.  Though  I  can't  see  it  all  clearly,  yet,  I  know 
that  every  bite  we  eat,  means  deprivation  to  some  other 
people,  somewhere.  This  light  and  luxury  mean  poverty 
and  darkness  elsewhere.  This  fruit,  this  \vine,  this 
very  bread  is  ours  because  some  obscure  and  unknown 
men  have  toiled  and  sweat  and  given  them  to  us.  Even 


212  THE     AIR     TRUST 

this  cut  glass  on  our  table — see!  What  tragedies  it 
could  reveal,  could  it  but  speak!  What  tales  of  cough 
ing,  consumptive  glass-cutters,  bending  over  wheels,  their 
lungs  cut  to  pieces  by  the  myriad  spicules  of  sharp  glass, 
so  that  we,  we  of  our  class,  may  enjoy  beauty  of  design 
and  coloring!  And  the  silken  gown  I  wear — that  too 
has  cost " 

"No  more!  No  more  of  this!"  gurgled  old  Flint,  now 
nearly  in  apoplexy.  "I  deny  you!  I  repudiate  you,  An 
archist  that  you  are!  Go!  Never  come  back — never, 
never !" 

Stumbling  blindly,  he  turned  and  staggered  out  of  the 
room.  She  watched  him  go,  nor  tried  to  steady  his  un 
certain  steps.  In  the  hallway,  outside,  she  heard  him 
ring  for  Slawson,  heard  the  valet  come,  and  both  of 
them  ascend  the  stairs. 

"Father,"  she  whispered  to  herself,  a  look  of  great 
and  pure  spiritual  beauty  on  her  noble  face,  "father,  this 
had  to  come.  Sooner  or  later,  it  was  inevitable.  What 
ever  you  have  done,  I  forgive  you,  for  you  are  my  father, 
and  have  surely  acted  for  what  you  think  my  interest. 

"But  none  the  less,  the  end  is  here  and  now.  Between 
you  and  me,  a  great  gulf  is  fixed.  And  from  tonight  I 
face  the  world,  to  battle  with  it,  learn  from  it,  and  know 
the  truth  in  every  way.  Enough  of  this  false,  easy,  un 
natural  life.  I  cannot  live  it  any  longer;  it  would  crush 
and  stifle  me!  Enough!  I  must  be  free,  I  shall  be 
free,  to  know,  and  dare,  and  do!" 

That  night,  having  had  no  further  speech  with  old 
Flint,  Kate  left  Idle  Hour,  taking  just  a  few  necessities 
in  a  suit-case,  and  a  few  dollars  for  her  immediate  needs. 

Giving  no  explanation  to  maid,  valet  or  anyone,  she  let 


CATHERINE'S  SUPREME  DECISION      213 

herself  out,  walked  through  the  great  estate  and  down 
Englewood  Avenue,  to  the  station,  where  she  caught  a 
train  for  Jersey  City. 

The  midnight  special -for  Chicago  bore  her  swiftly 
westward.  No  sleeping  car  she  took,  but  passed  the  night 
in  a  seat  of  an  ordinary  coach.  Her  ticket  read  "Ro 
chester." 

The  old  page  of  her  Book  of  Life  was  closed  forever. 
A  new  and  better  page  was  open  wide. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 
THROUGH  STEEL  BARS. 

RUE  to  her  plan,  Catherine  ended  her  journey  at 
Rochester.  She  engaged  a  room  at  a  second-rate 
hotel — marvelling  greatly  at  the  meanness  of  the  ac 
commodations,  the  like  of  which  she  had  never  seen — 
and,  at  ten  o'clock  of  the  morning,  appeared  at  the  Cen 
tral  Police  Station.  The  bundle  of  papers  in  her  hand 
indicated  that  she  had  read  the  latest  lies  and  venom 
poured  out  on  Gabriel's  defenseless  head. 

The  haughty,  full-fed  sergeant  in  charge  of  the  sta 
tion  made  some  objections,  at  first,  to  letting  her  see 
Gabriel;  but  the  tone  of  her  voice  and  the  level  look  of 
her  gray  eye  presently  convinced  him  he  was  playing 
with  fire,  and  he  gave  in.  Summoning  an  officer,  he  bade 
the  man  conduct  her.  Iron  doors  opened  and  closed  for 
her.  She  was  conscious  of  long,  ill-smelling,  concrete- 
floored  corridors,  with  little  steel  cages  at  either  side 
— cages  where  hopeless,  sodden  wrecks  of  men  were 
standing,  or  sitting  in  attitudes  of  brutal  despair,  or  lying 
on  foul  bunks,  motionless  and  inert  as  logs. 

For  a  moment  her  heart  failed  her. 

"Good  Lord!  Can  such  things  be?"  she  whispered 
to  herself.  "So  this — this  is  a  police  station?  And  real 
jails  and  penitentiaries  are  worse?  Oh,  horrible!  I  never 
dreamed  of  anything  like  this,  or  any  men  like  these!" 


THROUGH    STEEL     BARS  215 

The  officer,  stopping  at  a  cell-door  and  banging  there 
on  with  some  keys,  startled  her. 

"Here,  youse,"  he  addressed  the  man  within,  "lady  to 
see  youse!" 

Catherine  was  conscious  that  her  heart  was  pounding 
hard  and  her  breath  coming  fast,  as  she  peered  in  through 
those  cold,  harsh  metal  bars.  For  a  minute  she  could 
find  no  thought,  no  word.  Within,  her  eyes — still  unac 
customed  to  the  gloom — vaguely  perceived  a  man's  fig 
ure,  big  and  powerful,  and  different  in  its  bearing  from 
those  other  cringing  wretches  she  had  glimpsed. 

Then  the  man  came  toward  her,  stopped,  peered  and 
for  a  second  drew  back.  And  then — then  she  heard  his 
voice,  in  a  kind  of  startled  joy: 

"Oh—is  it— is  it  you?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered.  "I  must  see  you!  I  must  talk 
with  you,  again,  and  know  the  truth !" 

The  officer  edged  nearer. 

"Youse  can  talk  all  y'  want  to,"  he  dictated,  hoarsely, 
"but  don't  you  pass  nothin'  in.  No  dope,  nor  nothin', 
see?  I'll  stick  around  an'  watch,  anyhow;  but  don't  try 
to  slip  him  no  dream  powders  or  no  'snow.'  'Cause  if 
you  do " 

"What — what  on  earth  are  you  talking  about?"  the 
girl  demanded,  turning  on  the  officer  with  absolute  as 
tonishment.  But  he,  only  winking  wisely,  repeated : 

"You  heard  me,  didn't  you?  No  dope.  I'm  wise  to 
this  whole  game." 

At  a  loss  for  his  meaning,  yet  without  any  real  desire 
to  fathom  it,  Kate  turned  back  toward  Gabriel. 

A  moment  they  two  looked  at  each  other,  each  noting 
any  change  that  might  have  taken  place  since  that  won- 


216  THE    AIR    TRUST 

derful  hour  in  the  sugar-house,  each  hungering  and  thirst 
ing  for  a  sight  of  the  other's  face.  In  her  heart,  already 
Kate  knew  as  well  as  she  knew  she  was  alive,  that  this 
man  was  totally  innocent  of  the  foul  charges  heaped  upon 
him.  And  so  she  looked  at  him  with  eyes  wherein  lay  no 
reproach,  no  doubt  and  no  suspicion.  And,  as  she 
looked,  tears  started,  and  her  heart  swelled  hotly  in  her 
breast;  for  he  was  bruised  and  battered  and  a  helpless 
captive. 

"He,  caged  like  a  trapped  animal!"  her  thought  was. 
"He,  so  strong,  and  free,  and  brave!  Oh,  horrible,  hor 
rible!" 

He  must  have  read  something  of  this  feeling,  in  her 
face;  for  now,  coming  close  to  the  bars,  he  said  in  a 
low  tone: 

"Girl — your  name  I  don't  know,  even  yet — girl,  you 
mustn't  pity  me!  That's  one  thing  I  can't  have.  I'm 
here  because  the  master  class  is  stronger  than  my  class, 
the  working  class.  Here,  because  I'm  dangerous  to  that 
master  class,  This  isn't  said  to  make  myself  out  a 
martyr.  It's  only  to  make  you  see  things  right.  I'm 
not  complaining  at  this  plight.  I've  richly  earned  it — 
under  Capitalism.  So,  then,  that's  settled. 

"And  now,  what's  more  important,  tell  me  how  you 
are!  And  did  your  wound  cause  you  much  trouble?  I 
confess  I've  passed  many  an  anxious  hour,  thinking  of 
your  narrow  escape  and  of  your  injury.  It  wasn't  too 
bad,  was  it?  Tell  me!" 

"No,"  she  answered,  still  holding  to  the  bars,  for  she 
somehow  felt  quite  unaccountably  weak.  "It  wasn't  very 
bad.  There's  hardly  any  scar  at  all — or  won't  be,  when 
it's  fully  healed.  But  all  this  is  trifling,  compared  to  what 


THROUGH    STEEL    BARS  217 

you've  suffered  and  are  suffering.  Oh,  what  a  horrible 
affair!  What  frightful  accusations!  Tell  me  the  truth, 
Boy — how,  why  could ?" 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment,  in  silence,  noting  her 
splendid  hair  and  eyes  and  mouth,  the  firm,  well-moulded 
chin,  the  confident  and  self-reliant  poise  of  the  shapely 
head;  and  as  he  looked,  he  knew  he  loved  this  woman. 
He  understood,  at  last,  how  dear  she  was  to  him — dearer 
than  anything  else  in  all  the  world  save  just  his  principles 
and  stern  life  work.  He  comprehended  the  meaning  of 
all  his  dreams  and  visions  and  long  thoughts.  And,  car 
ing  nothing  for  consequences,  unskilled  in  the  finesse  of 
dealing*  with  women,  acting  wholly  on  the  irresistible  im 
pulses  of  a  heart  that  overflowed,  he  looked  deep  into 
those  gray  eyes  and  said  in  a  tone  that  set  her  heart 
strings  vibrating: 

"Listen!  The  truth?  How  could  I  tell  you  anything 
else?  I  know  not  who  you  are,  and  care  not.  That  you 
are  rich  and  powerful  and  free,  while  I  am  poor  and  in 
captivity,  means  nothing.  Love  cares  not  for  such  trifles. 
Tt  dares  all,  hopes  all,  trusts  all,  believes  all — and  is  pa 
tient  in  adversity." 

"Love?"  she  whispered,  her  face  paling.  "How  do  you 
dare  to ?" 

"Dare?  Because  my  heart  bids  me.  And  where  it 
bids,  I  care  not  for  conventions  or  consequences!"  He 
flung  his  hand  out  with  a  splendid  gesture,  his  head  high, 
his  eyes  lustrous  in  the  half-light  of  the  cell.  "Where  it 
leads,  I  have  to  follow.  That  is  why  I  am  a  Socialist! 
That  is  why  I  am  here,  to-day,  outcast  and  execrated,  a 
prisoner,  in  danger  of  long  years  of  living  death  in  the 
pestilential  tomb  of  some  foul  penitentiary  I" 


218  THE     AIR     TRUST 

"You're  here  because — because  you  are  a  Socialist?" 
she  asked. 

He  nodded. 

"Yes,"  said  he.  "I  tried  to  help  a  suffering,  outcast 
woman — or  one  who  posed  as  such.  And  she  betrayed 
me  to  my  enemies.  And  so " 

"There  was  a  woman  in  this  affair,  then?"  Catherine 
queried  with  sudden  pain.  "The  newspapers  haven't 
made  the  story  all  up  out  of  whole  cloth?" 

"No.  There  was  a  woman.  A  Delilah,  who  delivered 
me  into  the  hands  of  the  Philistines,  when  I  tried  to  help 
her  in  what  she  lied  in  telling  me  wras  her  need.  Will 
you  hear  the  story?" 

Still  very  pale,  she  formed  a  half-inarticulate  "Yes!" 
with  her  full  lips.  Then,  seeming  to  brace  herself  by  a 
tighter  clasp  on  the  hard  steel  grating,  she  listened  while 
he  spoke. 

Earnestly,  honestly  and  with  perfect  straightforward 
ness,  omitting  nothing,  adding  nothing,  he  gave  her  the 
narrative  of  that  fatal  night's  events,  from  the  first 
moment  he  had  laid  eyes  on  the  wonderfully-disguised 
woman,  till  her  cudgel-blow  had  laid  him  senseless  on 
the  floor. 

He  told  her  the  part  that  every  actor  therein  had 
played;  how  the  whole  drama  had  been  staged,  to  dis 
honor  and  convict  him,  to  railroad  him  to  the  Pen  for  a 
long  term,  perhaps  to  kill  him.  He  spoke  in  a  low  voice, 
to  prevent  the  watching  officer  from  overhearing;  and  as 
he  talked,  he  thanked  his  stars  that  in  all  this  network 
of  conspiracy  and  crime  against  the  Party  and  against 
himself,  his  captors  had  not  yet  placed  him  incommuni 
cado.  For  some  reason — perhaps  because  they  thought 


THROUGH    STEEL     BARS'      219 

their  case  against  him  absolutely  secure  and  wanted  to 
avoid  any  appearance  of  unfairness  or  of  martyrizing  him 
— this  restriction  had  not  yet  been  laid  upon  him.  So 
now  his  message  of  the  truth  could  reach  the  ears  of  her 
who,  more  than  all  the  world  beside,  had  grown  dear  to 
him  and  precious  beyond  words. 

He  told  her,  then,  not  only  the  story  of  that  night,  but 
also  all  that  had  since  happened — the  newspaper  attacks 
on  him  and  on  the  Party ;  the  deliberate  attempt  to  poison 
the  community  and  the  nation  against  him;  the  struggle 
to  fix  a  foul  and  lasting  blot  upon  his  name,  and  ruin 
him  beyond  redemption. 

"And  why,  all  this  ?"  he  added,  while  she — listening  so 
intently  that  she  hardly  breathed — knew  that  he  spoke 
the  living,  vital  truth.  "Why  this  persecution,  this  plot 
ting,  this  labor  and  expense  to  'get'  me.  Do  you  want  to 
know?" 

"Yes,  tell  me!"  she  whispered.  "I  don't  understand. 
I  can't!  It — it  all  seems  so  horrible,  so  unreal,  so — so 
different  from  what  I've  always  believed  about  the  majesty 
and  purity  of  the  law!  Can  these  things  be,  indeed?" 

He  laughed  bitterly. 

"Can  they?"  he  repeated.  "When  you  see  that  they 
arc,  isn't  that  answer  enough?  And  the  reason  of  it  all 
is  that  I'm  a  Socialist  and  know  certain  secrets  of  cer 
tain  men,  which — if  I  should  tell  the  world — might,  nay, 
surely  would,  precipitate  a  revolution.  So,  these  men, 
and  the  System  behind  them,  have  tried  to  discredit  me 
by  this  foul  charge.  After  this,  if  the  charge  sticks,  I 
may  shout  my  head  off,  exposing  what  I  know ;  and  who 
will  listen  ?  You  know  the  answer  as  well  as  I !  Do  I 
complain?  No,  not  once!  What  I  must  suffer,  for  this 


220  THE    AIR    TRUST 

wondrous  Cause,  is  not  a  tenth  what  thousands  suffer 
every  day,  in  silence  and  high  courage.  What  has  hap 
pened  to  me,  personally,  is  but  the  merest  trifle  beside 
what  has  already  happened  to  thousands,  fighting  for  life 
and  liberty,  for  wife  and  home  and  children ;  for  the  right 
to  work  and  live  like  men,  not  beasts !" 

"You  mean  the — the  working  class?'*  she  ventured, 
wonderingly.  "Is  this  outrage  really  a  minor  one,  com 
pared  with  what  they,  who  feed  and  warm  and  carry  the 
whole  world,  have  to  suffer?  Tell  me,  for  I — God  help 
me,  I  am  ignorant!  I  am  beginning  to  see,  to  half -see, 
awful,  dim,  ghostly  shapes  of  huge,  unspeakable  wrongs. 
Tell  me  the  truth  about  all  this,  as  you  have  told  it  about 
yourself — and  let  me  know!" 

Then  Gabriel  talked  as  never  he  had  talked  before.  To 
this,  his  audience  of  one,  there  in  the  dirty  and  ill-smell 
ing  police  station,  he  unfolded  the  sad  tale  of  the  disin 
herited,  the  enslaved,  the  wretched,  as  never  to  a  huge, 
and  spell-bound  audience  in  hall  or  park  or  city  street. 
His  eloquence,  always  convincing,  now  became  sublime. 

With  master  strokes  he  painted  vast  outlines  of  the 
whole  sad  picture — the  System  based  on  robbery  and 
fraud  and  exploitation;  its  natural  results  in  millionaire 
and  tramp  and  harlot  and  degenerate ;  the  crime  of  armies 
of  unemployed  and  starving  men,  of  millions  of  women 
forced  into  the  factories  and  shops,  there  to  compete  with 
men  and  lower  wages  and  lose  their  finest  feminine  attri 
butes  in  the  sordid  and  heartless  drudging  for  a  pittance. 

He  told  her  of  child  slavery,  and  brought  before  her 
eyes  the  pictures  he  himself  had  seen,  of  the  pale,  stunted 
little  victims  of  Mammon's  greed,  toiling  by  day  and 
night  in  stifling,  dangerous  mines;  in  the  Hell-glare  of 


THROUGH    STEEL    BARS  221 

the  glass -factories ;  in  the  nand-bruising,  soul-obliterating 
Inferno  of  the  coal-breakers;  in  the  hot,  linty,  sickening 
atmosphere  of  the  southern  cotton-mills.  And  as  he 
talked,  she  saw  for  the  first  time  the  figures  of  these 
bowed  and  bloodless  little  boys  and  girls,  giving  their  lives 
drop  by  drop,  and  cough  by  cough,  that  she  might  have 
purple  and  fine  linen  and  the  rich,  soft,  easy  paths  of  life. 

Then,  pausing  not,  he  spoke  to  her  of  white  slavery,  of 
girls  and  women  by  the  uncounted  thousand  forced  to 
barter  their  own  bodies  for  a  mockery  of  life;  and,  sting 
ing  as  a  nagaika,  he  laid  the  lash  of  blame  on  Capitalism, 
evil  cause  of  an  evil  and  rotten  fruit,  of  disease  and 
crime,  and  misery,  and  death.  He  told  her  of  political 
corruption  beyond  belief;  of  cheating,  lying,  trickery 
and  greed,  for  power.  Of  war,  he  told  her,  and  made 
all  its  inner,  hideous  motives  clear.  She  seemed  verily  to 
see  the  trenches,  the  "red  rampart's  slippery  edge,"  the 
spattered  blood  and  brains  and  all  the  horror  of  Hell's 
nethermost  infamy — and  then  the  blasted,  wrecked  and 
wasted  homes,  the  long  trail  of  mourning  and  of  hopeless 
ruin — the  horror  of  this  crime  of  crimes,  all  for  profit, 
all  for  gold  and  markets,  all  for  Capitalism ! 

And  then,  while  the  girl  stood  there  listening,  spell 
bound  by  her  first  insight,  her  first  understanding  of  the 
true  character  of  this,  our  striving,  slaving  world,  held  by 
a  few  for  their  own  inordinate  pride  and  power,  the  man's 
voice  changed. 

With  new  intonations  and  a  deeper  tone,  he  launched 
into  some  outlines  of  the  great  hope,  the  splendid  vision, 
the  Wondrous  Ideal — Socialism,  the  world-salvation. 

Sentence  by  sentence,   imagery  of    this    vast,    noble 


222  THE     AIR     TRUST 

thought  flowed  from  his  inspired  lips.  Clearly  he  showed 
this  woman  all  the  causes  of  the  world's  travail  and  pain ; 
and  clearly  made  her  see  that  only  in  one  way,  only 
through  the  ownership  of  the  world  by  the  world's  chil 
dren  as  a  whole,  could  peace  and  justice,  life  and  joy 
and  plenty  and  the  New  Time  come  to  pass,  dreamed  of 
and  yearned  for  by  many  sages  and  prophets,  and  now 
close  at  hand  on  the  very  threshold  of  reality! 

Socialism !  It  leaped  from  his  spirit  like  a  living  flame, 
consuming  dross  and  waste  and  evil,  lighting  up  the  fu 
ture  with  its  shining  beacon,  its  message  of  hope  to  the 
hopeless,  of  rest  and  cheer  and  peace  to  all  who  labored 
and  were  heavy  laden. 

Socialism!  The  glory  of  the  vision  seemed  to  blind 
and  dazzle  Catherine.  In  its  supernal  light,  things  griev 
ous  to  be  understood  and  borne  were  now  made  clear. 
For  the  first  time  in  all  her  life,  the  woman  saw,  and 
knew,  and  grasped  the  truths  of  this  strange  nexus  of 
conflict,  pain  and  sorrow,  that  we  know  as  our  existence. 

'Socialism!  The  Hope  of  the  World!"  Gabriel  fin 
ished.  "And  for  this,  and  for  what  I  know  about  its 
enemies,  I  stand  here  in  this  cell  and  may  yet  go  to  a 
living  death.  This  is  my  crime,  and  nothing  else — this 
battle  for  the  freedom  and  the  joy  of  the  world — this 
struggle  against  the  powers  of  ignorance  and  darkness, 
priestcraft  and  greed,  lust,  treachery  and  foulness,  cruelty 
and  hate  and  war !  This,  and  this  only.  You  have  heard 
me.  I  have  spoken !" 

He  fell  silent,  crossed  his  arms  upon  the  bars  of  the 


THROUGH    STEEL   BARS  223 

cage  that  pent  him,  and  laid  his  head  upon  them  with  a 
motion  of  weariness. 

Something  strangely  stirred  the  heart  of  the  woman. 
Her  hand  went  out  and  touched  his  thick,  black  hair. 

"Be  of  good  cheer,"  she  whispered.  "Though  I  am  ig 
norant  and  do  not  fully  understand,  as  yet,  some  glimmer 
of  the  light  has  reached  my  eyes.  I  can  learn,  and  I  will 
learn,  and  dare,  and  do!  All  my  life  I  have  eaten  the 
bread  of  this  bitter  slavery,  taken  the  thing  I  had  no  right 
to  take,  unknowingly  wielded  the  lash  on  bleeding  backs 
of  men  and  women  and  children. 

"All  my  life  have  I,  in  ignorance  and  idleness,  done 
these  things.  But  never  shall  I  do  them  again.  That  is 
all  past  and  gone,  an  evil  dream  that  is  no  more.  From 
now,  if  you  will  be  patient  and  forgive  and  teach  me,  I 
will  stand  with  you  and  yours,  and  glory  in  the  new 
found  strength  and  majesty  of  this  supreme  ideal!" 

He  made  no  ans\ver,  save  to  reach  one  hand  to  her, 
through  the  bars.  Their  hands  met  in  a  long,  clinging 
tension.  The  policeman,  somewhat  down  the  corridor, 
moved  officiously  in  their  direction. 

"Here,  now,  none  o'  that!"  he  blurted.  "Break  away! 
An'  say,  time's  up.  Yuh  stayed  too  long,  miss,  as  it  is!" 

Their  hands  parted.     Still  Gabriel  did  not  look  up. 

"Are — are  you  coming  back  again?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  Gabriel.    Tomorrow." 

"And  will  you  tell  me  then  who  you  are  ?" 

"I'll  tell  you  now,  if  you  want  to  know." 

"I  do,"  he  answered,  and  raised  his  head.  Their  eyes 
met,  steadily.  "I  do,  now  that  you  too  have  seen  the 
light,  and  that  you  understand.  Tell  me,  who  are  you?" 


224  THE     AIR     TRUST 

A  moment's  pause. 
Then,  facing  him,  she  answered : 
"I  am  Catherine  Flint,  only  daughter  of  Isaac  Flint,  the 
Billionaire!" 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 
"GUILTY." 

PEECHLESS  and  dazed,  Gabriel  stared  at  her  as 
though  at  some  strange  apparition. 

"Daughter  of — of  Isaac  Flint?"  he  stammered,  cling 
ing  to  the  bars. 

"Come,  come,  lady,  yuh  can't  stay  no  longer!"  the  of 
ficer  again  insisted,  tapping  her  on  the  shoulder.  "Yuh'd 
oughta  been  out  o'  here  ten  minutes  ago!  No,  nuthin' 
doin'!"  he  concluded,  as  she  turned  to  him  appealingly. 
"Not  to-day!  Time's  up  an'  more  than  up!" 

Catherine  stretched  out  her  hand  to  Gabriel,  in  fare 
well.  He  took  it,  silently. 

"Good-bye!"  said  she.  "Until  I  come  again,  good 
bye.  Keep  up  a  stout  heart,  for  I  am  with  you.  We — 
we  can't  lose.  We  shall  win — we  must  win!  Don't 
condemn  me  for  being  what  I  am  and  who  I  am,  Gab 
riel.  Only  think  what — with  your  help — I  may  yet 
be!  And  now  again,  good-bye!" 

Their  hands  parted.  Gabriel,  still  silent,  stood  there  in 
his  cell,  watching  her  till  she  vanished  from  his  sight 
down  the  long  corridor  of  grief  and  tears.  The  officer, 
winking  wisely  to  himself,  thrust  his  tongue  into  his 
cheek. 

"Daughter  of  Isaac  Flint,  th'  Billionaire!"  he  was  think 
ing,  with  derision.  "Oh,  yes,  billionaires'  daughters 
would  be  visitin'  Socialists  an'  bums  an'  red-light  con- 


226  THE    AIR     TRUST 

workers  like  this  geezer.  Oh  yes,  sure,  sure  they  would 
— I  should  worry!" 

Which  mental  attitude  was  fortunate,  indeed;  for  it, 
and  it  alone,  preserved  the  girl  from  a  wild  blare  of  news 
paper  notoriety.  Had  the  truth  been  known,  who  could 
have  imagined  the  results  ? 

For  a  long  time  after  the  girl  had  departed,  Gabriel 
sat  there  in  his  cell,  motionless  and  sunk  in  deepest 
thought.  His  emotions  passed  recording.  That  this 
woman,  his  ideal,  his  best-beloved,  the  cherished,  inmost 
treasure  of  his  heart  and  soul — she  whom  he  had 
rescued,  she  who  had  lain  in  his  arms  and  shared  with 
him  that  unforgettable  hour  in  the  old  sugar-house — 
should  now  prove  to  be  the  daughter  of  his  bitterest 
enemy,  surpassed  belief  and  stunned  all  clear  under 
standing. 

Flint!  The  very  name  connoted,  for  Gabriel,  all  that 
was  cruel  and  rapacious,  hateful,  vicious  and  greedy;  all 
that  meant  pain  and  woe  and  death  to  him  and  his  class. 
Visions  of  West  Virginia  and  Colorado  rose  before  his 
mind.  He  heard  again  the  whistle  of  the  "Bull  Moose 
Death  Special"  as  it  sped  on  its  swift  errand  of  barbar 
ism  up  Cabin  Creek,  hurling  its  sprays  of  leaden  death 
among  the  slaves  of  this  man  and  his  vulturine  associates. 

Flint!  He  whispered  the  name;  and  now  he  seemed 
to  see  the  burning  tents  at  Ludlow ;  the  fleeing  women  and 
children,  shot  down  by  barbarous  thugs  and  gunmen, 
ghouls  in  human  form !  He  saw  the  pits  of  death,  where 
the  charred  bodies  of  innocent  victims  of  greed  and  heart 
less  rapacity  lay  in  mute  protest  under  the  far  Colorado 
sky.  And  more  he  saw,  east  and  west,  north  and  south, 
of  this  man's  inhuman  work;  and  his  thoughts,  projected 


"G  U  I  L  T  Y"  227 

into  the  future,  dwelt  bitterly  on  the  Air  Trust  now  al 
ready  under  way — the  terrible,  coming  slavery  which 
he,  Gabriel,  had  struggled  to  checkmate,  only  to  find  him 
self  locked  like  a  rat  in  a  steel  trap! 

"And  this  woman,"  he  groaned  in  agony  of  soul,  "this 
woman,  all  in  all  to  me,  is — is  his  daughter !" 

Flinging  himself  upon  his  hard  and  narrow  bunk,  he 
buried  his  head  in  his  powerful  arms,  and  tried  to  blot 
out  thought  from  his  fevered  brain;  but  still  the  current 
ran  on  and  on  and  on,  endlessly,  maddeningly.  And  to 
the  problem,  no  answer  seemed  to  come. 

"She  must  know  who  I  am,"  he  pondered.  "Even  if 
her  father  has  not  told  her,  the  papers  have.  True,  she 
doesn't  believe  the  infamous  charge  against  me ;  but  what 
then  ?  Can  she,  on  the  other  hand,  believe  the  truth,  that 
her  father  has  conspired  with  Slade  and  those  Cosmos 
thugs,  and  with  the  press  and  courts  and  the  whole  dam 
nable  prostituted  system,  to  suppress  and  kill  me? 

"Can  she  believe  her  father  guilty  of  all  that  ?  And  of 
all  the  horrors  of  this  capitalist  Hell,  that  I  have  told 
her  about  ?  No !  Human  nature  is  incapable  of  such  vast 
turnings  from  all  the  habits  and  environments  of  a  life 
time.  In  her  veins  flows  the  blood  of  that  arch-criminal, 
Flint.  Her  thoughts  must  be,  to  some  extent,  his 
thoughts.  She  must  share  his  viewpoint,  and  be  loyal  to 
him.  After  this  first  flush  of  reaction  against  her  father, 
she  will  go  back  to  him.  It  is  inevitable.  Betwixt  her 
and  me  is  fixed  a  boundless  space,  wider  than  Heaven  and 
earth.  She  is  one  pole,  and  I  the  other.  If  I  have  any 
strength  or  resolution  or  philosophy,  now  is  the  hour  for 
its  trial. 

"This  woman  must  be,  shall  be  put  away  from  every 


228  THE    AIR     TRUST 

thought  and  wish  and  hope.  And  the  word  FINIS  must 
be  written  at  the  end  of  the  one  brief  chapter  where  our 
life-stories  seem  to  have  run  along  together  in  a  false 
harmony  and  a  fictitious  peace!" 

Thus  pondered  Gabriel,  in  the  gloom  of  his  harsh  cell, 
branded  with  crime  and  writhing  in  the  agony  of  soul 
that  only  those  who  love  hopelessly  can  ever  know. 

And  Catherine,  what  of  her?  What  were  her  thoughts, 
emotions,  inspirations  as — seeming  to  live  in  a  dream, 
with  Gabriel's  eloquence  and  the  new  vision  of  a  better, 
saner,  kindlier  world  shining  through  her  soul — she 
made  her  way  back  to  the  dingy  hotel  where  now,  shabby 
as  it  was,  she  felt  she  had  no  right  to  stay,  while  others, 
homeless,  walked  the  brutal  streets  ? 

Who  shall  know  them?  Who  shall  tell?  A  blind 
man,  suddenly  made  to  see,  can  find  no  words  to  express 
the  wonder  and  bright  glory  of  that  sudden  sight.  A 
deaf  man,  regaining  his  lost  sense,  cannot  describe  the 
sudden  burst  of  sound  that  fills  the  new,  strange  world 
wherein  he  finds  himself.  So,  now,  this  cultured,  gently 
bred  woman,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  understanding 
the  facts,  glimpsing  the  tragedy  and  grasping  the  answer 
to  it  all,  felt  that  no  words  could  compass  her  strange 
exultation  and  enlargement. 

"It — it's  like  a  chrysalis  emerging  into  the  form  of 
a  light,  swift  butterfly!"  she  pondered,  as,  back  in  her 
room  once  more,  she  prepared  to  write  two  letters.  "Just 
for  the  present,  I  can't  understand  it  all.  I  don't  know, 
yet,  whether  I'm  worthy  to  be  a  Socialist,  to  be  one  of 
that  company  of  earnest,  noble  men  and  women  striving 
for  life  and  liberty  and  joy  for  all  the  world.  But  with 
the  help  of  the  man  I  trust  and  honor  and  believe  in, 


"GUILT  Y"  229 

and — and  love — perhaps  I  may  yet  be.      God  grant  it 
may  be  so!" 

She  thought,  a  few  minutes  more,  her  face  lighted  by 
an  inner  radiance  that  made  its  beauty  spiritual  and  pure 
and  calm.  Then,  having  somewhat  composed  her 
thoughts,  she  wrote  this  letter  to  Maxim  Waldron : 

My  Dear  Wally: 

I  am  writing  you  without  date  or  place,  just  as  I 
shall  write  my  father,  because  whatever  happens,  I  insist 
that  you  two  let  me  go  my  way  in  peace,  without  trying 
to  find,  or  hamper,  or  importune  me.  My  mind  is  fully 
made  up.  Nothing  can  change  it.  We  have  come  to 
the  parting  of  the  ways,  forever. 

Though  I  may  feel  bitterly  toward  you  for  wliat  I 
now  understand  as  your  harsh  and  cruel  attitude  toward 
the  -world,  and  the  role  you  play  as  an  exploiter  of  hu 
man  labor,  I  shall  not  reproach  you.  You  simply  can 
not  see  these  things  as  I  have  come  to  see  them  since 
my  feet  have  been  set  upon  the  road  toward  Socialism. 
Don't  start,  Wally— that's  the  truth.  Perhaps  I'm  not 
much  of  a  Socialist  yet,  because  I  don't  know  much 
about  it.  But  I  am  learning,  and  shall  learn.  My  teacher 
is  the  best  one  in  the  world,  I'm  sure;  and  added  to 
this,  all  my  natural  energy  and  innate  radicalism  have 
flamed  into  activity  with  this  new  thought.  So,  you 
see,  the  past  is  even  more  effectively  buried  than  ever. 
Hoio  could  anything  ever  be  possible,  now}  between  you 
and  me? 

Cease  to  think  of  me,  Wally.  I  am  gone  out  of  your 
life,  for  all  time,  as  out  of  that  whole  circle  of  false, 


230  THE     AIR     TRUST 

insincere,  wicked  and  parisitic  existence  that  we  call 
"society."  That  other  world,  where  you  still  are,  shall 
see  me  no  more.  I  have  found  a  better  and  a  nobler 
kind  of  life;  and  to  this,  and  to  all  it  implies,  I  mean 
to  be  forever  faithful.  I  beg  you,  never  try  to  find  me 
or  to  answer  this. 

Good-bye,  then,  forever. 

Catherine. 

After  having  read  this  over  and  sealed  it,  she  wrote 
still  another: 

Dear  Father: 

It  is  hard  to  write  these  words  to  you.  I  owe  you  a 
debt  of  gratitude  and  love,  in  many  ways;  yet,  after  all, 
your  will  and  mine  conflict.  You  have  tried  to  force 
me  to  a  union  abhorrent  and  impossible  to  me.  My  only 
course  is  this — independence  to  think,  and  act,  and 
live  as  I,  no  longer  a  child  but  a  grown  woman,  now  see 
fit. 

I  shall  never  return  to  you,  father.  Life  means  one 
thing  to  you,  another  to  me.  You  cannot  change;  I 
would  not,  now,  for  all  the  world.  I  must  go  my  way, 
thinking  my  own  thoughts,  doing  my  own  work,  living 
up  to  my  own  ideals,  whatever  these  may  be.  Your 
money  cannot  lure  me  back  to  you,  back  to  that  old, 
false,  sheltered,  horrible  life  of  ease  and  idleness  and 
veiled  robbery!  The  skill  you  have  given  me  as  a 
musician  will  open  out  a  way  for  me  to  earn  my  own 
living  and  be  free.  For  this  I  thank  you,  and  for  much 
else,  even  as  I  say  good-bye  to  you  for  all  time. 


"GUILT  Y"  231 

/  have  written  Wally.  He  will  tell  you  more  about 
me,  and  about  the  change  in  my  views  and  ambitions, 
which  has  taken  place.  Do  not  think  harshly  of  me, 
father,  and  I  will  try  to  forgive  you  for  the  burden  I 
nozv  know  you  have  laid  upon  the  aching  shoulders  of 
this  sad,  old  world. 

And  now,  good-bye.  Though  you  have  lost  a  daugh 
ter,  you  may  still  rejoice  to  know  that  that  daughter  has 
found  peace  and  joy  and  vast  outlets  for  the  energies  of 
her  whole  heart  and  soul  and  being,  in  working  for 
Socialism,  the  noblest  ideal  ever  conceived  by  the  mind 
of  man. 

Farewell,  father;  and  think  sometimes,  not  too  un 
kindly,  of 

Your 

Kate. 

One  week  after  these  letters  were  mailed,  "Tiger" 
Waldron,  fanning  the  fires  of  the  old  man's  terrible  rage, 
had  decided  Flint  to  disinherit  Catherine  and  to  name 
him,  Waldron,  as  his  executor.  Gabriel's  fervent  wish 
that  she  might  be  penniless,  was  granted. 

On  the  very  day  this  business  was  put  through,  prac 
tically  delivering  the  Flint  interests  into  Waldron's  hands 
in  the  case  of  the  old  man's  death,  a  verdict  was  reached 
in  Gabriel's  case,  at  Rochester. 

This  case,  crammed  through  the  calendar,  ahead  of  a 
large  jam  of  other  business,  proved  how  well  unlimited 
funds  can  grease  the  wheels  of  Law.  It  proved,  also, 
that  in  the  face  of  infinitely-subsidized  witnesses,  lawyers, 
judge  and  jurymen,  black  becomes  white,  and  a  good 
deed  is  written  down  a  crime. 


232  THE     AIR     TRUST 

Catherine,  working  incognito,  co-operated  with  the 
Socialist  defense,  and  did  all  that  could  be  humanely  done 
to  have  the  truth  made  known,  to  overset  the  mass  of 
perjury  and  fraud  enmeshing  Gabriel,  and  to  force  his 
acquittal. 

As  easily  might  she  have  bidden  the  sea  rise  from  its 
bed  and  flood  the  dry  and  arid  wastes  of  old  Sahara. 
Her  voice  and  that  of  the  Socialists,  their  lawyers  and 
their  press,  sounded  in  vain.  A  solid  battery  of  capitalist 
papers,  legal  lights,  private  detectives  and  other  means 
— particularly  including  the  majority  of  the  priests  and 
clergy — swamped  the  man  and  damned  him  and  doomed 
him  from  the  first  word  of  the  trial. 

Money  flowed  in  floods.  Perjury  overran  the  banks  of 
the  River  of  Corruption.  Herzog  branded  the  man  a 
thief  and  fire-eater.  Dope-fiends  and  harlots  from  the 
Red-Li ght  district,  "madames"  and  pimps  and  hangers- 
on,  swore  to  the  white-slave  activities  of  this  man,  who 
never  yet  in  all  his  four  and  twenty  years  had  so  much 
as  entered  a  brothel. 

Forged  papers  fixed  past  crimes  and  sentences  on  him. 
By  innuendo  and  direct  statement,  dynamitings,  arsons, 
violence  and  rioting  in  many  strikes  were  laid  at  his 
door.  His  Socialist  activities  were  dragged  in  the  slime 
of  every  gutter;  and  his  Party  made  to  suffer  for  evil 
deeds  existing  only  in  the  foul  imagination  of  the  prose 
cuting  attorneys.  The  finest  "kept"  brains  in  the  legal 
profession  conducted  the  case  from  start  to  finish;  and 
not  a  juryman  was  drawn  on  the  panel  who  was  not, 
from  the  first,  sworn  to  convict,  and  bought  and  paid  for 
in  hard  cash. 

After  three  days — days  in  which  Gabriel  plumbed  the 


"GUILTY"  233 

bitterest  depths  of  Hell  and  drank  full  draughts  of  gall 
and  wormwood — the  verdict  came.  Came,  and  was 
flashed  from  sea  to  sea  by  an  exulting  press;  and 
preached  on,  and  editorialized  on,  and  gloated  over  by 
Flint  and  Waldron  and  many,  many  others  of  that  ilk 
—while  Catherine  wept  tears  that  seemed  to  drain  her 
very  heart  of  its  last  drops  of  blood. 

At  last  she  knew  the  meaning  of  the  Class  Struggle 
and  her  terrible  father's  part  in  it  all.  At  last  she  under 
stood  what  Gabriel  had  so  long  understood  and  now  was 
paying  for — the  fact  that  Hell  hath  no  fury  like  Capital 
ism  when  endangered  or  opposed. 

The  Price !  Gabriel  now  must  pay  it,  to  the  full.  For 
that  foul  verdict,  bought  with  gold  wrung  from  the  very 
blood  and  marrow  of  countless  toilers,  opened  the  way  to 
the  sentence  which  Judge  Harpies  regretted  only  that  he 
could  not  make  more  severe — the  sentence  which  the 
detectives  and  the  prison  authorities,  well  "fixed," 
counted  on  making  a  death-sentence,  too. 

"Gabriel  Armstrong,  stand  up!" 

He  arose  and  faced  the  court.  A  deathlike  stillness 
hushed  the  room,  crowded  with  Socialists,  reporters, 
emissaries  of  Flint,  private  detectives  and  hangers-on 
of  the  System.  Heavily  veiled,  lest  some  of  her  father's 
people  recognize  her,  Catherine  herself  sat  in  a  back  seat, 
very  pale  yet  calm. 

"Prisoner  at  the  bar,  have  you  anything  to  say,  why 
sentence  should  not  be  pronounced  upon  you?" 

Gabriel,  also  a  little  pale,  but  with  a  steadfast  and  fear 
less  gaze,  looked  at  the  legal  prostitute  upon  the  bench, 
and  shook  his  head  in  negation.  He  deigned  not,  even, 
to  answer  this  kept  puppet  of  the  ruling  class. 


234  THE     AIR     TRUST 

Judge  Harpies  frowned  a  trifle,  cleared  his  throat, 
glanced  about  him  with  pompous  dignity;  and  then,  in  a 
sonorous  and  impressive  tone — his  best  asset  on  the 
bench,  for  legal  knowledge  and  probity  were  not  his — 
announced : 

"It  is  the  judgment  of  this  court  that  you  do  stand 
committed  to  pay  a  fine  of  three  thousand  dollars 
into  the  treasury  of  the  United  States,  and  to  serve 
five  years  at  hard  labor  in  the  Federal  Penitentiary 
at  Atlanta!" 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 
BACK  IN  THE  SUNLIGHT. 

HOUR  years  and  two  months  from  the  day  when  this 
iniquitous  verdict  fell  from  the  lips  of  the  ''bought 
and  paid  for"  judge,  a  sturdily  built  and  square  jawed 
man  stood  on  the  steps  of  the  Atlanta  Penitentiary  and, 
for  the  first  time  in  all  these  weary  months  and  years, 
faced  the  sun. 

Pale  with  the  prison-pallor  that  never  fails  to  set  its 
seal  on  the  victims  of  a  diseased  society,  which  that 
society  retaliates  upon  by  shutting  away  from  God's  own 
light  and  air,  this  man  stood  there  on  the  steps,  a  mo 
ment,  then  advanced  to  meet  a  woman  who  was  coming 
toward  him  in  the  August  glare.  As  he  removed  his 
cheap,  convict-made  cap,  one  saw  his  finely  shaped  head, 
close  cropped  with  the  infamous  prison  badge  of  servitude. 
Despite  the  shoddy  miserable  prison-suit  that  the  pros 
tituted  government  had  given  him — a  suit  that  would 
have  made  Apollo  grotesque  and  would  have  marked 
any  man  as  an  ex-convict,  thus  heavily  handicapping  him 
from  the  start — Gabriel  Armstrong's  poise  and  strength 
still  made  themselves  manifest. 

And  the  smile  as  they  two,  the  woman  and  he,  came 
together  and  their  hands  clasped,  lighted  his  pale  features 
with  a  ray  brighter  than  that  of  the  blistering  Southern 
sunshine  flooding  down  upon  them  both. 

"I  knew  you'd  come,  Catherine,"  said  he,  simply,  his 


236  THE    AIR     TRUST 

voice  still  the  same  deep,  vibrant,  earnest  voice  which,  all 
that  time  ago,  had  thrilled  and  inspired  her  at  the  hour  of 
her  great  conversion.  Still  were  his  eyes  clear,  level  and 
commanding;  and  through  his  splendid  body,  despite  all 
his  jailers  had  been  able  to  do,  coursed  an  abundant  life 
and  strong  vitality. 

Gabriel  had  served  his  time  with  consummate  skill, 
courage  and  intelligence.  Like  all  wise  men,  he  had 
recognized  force  majeure,  and  had  submitted.  He  had 
made  practically  no  infractions  of  the  prison  rules,  dur 
ing  his  whole  "bit."  He  had  been  quiet,  obedient  and  in 
dustrious.  His  work,  in  the  brush  factory,  had  always 
been  well  done;  and  though  he  had  consistently  refused 
to  bear  tales,  to  spy,  to  inform  or  be  a  stool-pigeon — the 
quickest  means  of  winning  favor  in  any  prison — yet  he 
had  given  no  opportunity  for  savagery  and  violence  to  be 
applied  to  him.  Not  even  Flint's  eager  wish  to  have  his 
jailers  force  him  into  rebellion  had  succeeded.  Realiz 
ing  to  the  full  the  sort  of  tactics  that  would  be  used  to 
break,  and  if  possible  to  kill  him,  Gabriel  had  met  them 
all  with  calm  self-reliance  and  with  a  generalship  that 
showed  his  brain  and  nerves  were  still  unshaken.  On 
their  own  ground  he  had  met  these  brutes,  and  he  had 
beaten  them  at  their  own  game. 

Their  attempt  to  make  a  "dope"  out  of  him  had  ig- 
nominio'Usly  failed.  He  had  detected  the  morphine  they 
had  cleverly  mixed  with  his  water;  and,  after  his  drowsi 
ness  and  wierd  dreams  had  convinced  him  of  the  plot, 
had  turned  the  trick  on  it  by  secretly  emptying  this  water 
out  and  by  drinking  only  while  in  the  shop,  where  he 
could  draw  water  from  the  faucet.  The  cell  guards'  in 
telligence  had  been  too  limited  to  make  them  inquire  of 


BACK    IN    THE    SUNLIGHT        237 

the  brush  shop  guards  about  his  habits.  Also,  Gabriel, 
had  feigned  stupefaction  while  in  the  cell.  Thus  he  had 
simulated  the  effects  of  the  drug,  and  had  really  thrown 
his  tormentors  off  the  track.  For  months  and  months 
they  were  convinced  that  they  were  weakening  his  will 
and  destroying  his  mentality,  while  as  a  matter  of  fact 
his  reasoning  powers  and  determination  never  had  been 
more  keen. 

By  bathing  as  often  as  possible,  by  taking  regular  and 
carefully  planned  calisthenics,  by  reading  the  best  books 
in  the  prison  library,  by  attention  to  every  rule  of  health 
within  his  means,  and  by  allowing  himself  no  vices,  not 
even  his  pipe,  Gabriel  now  was  emerging  from  the  Bastile 
of  Capitalism  in  a  condition  of  mind  and  body  so  little 
impaired  that  he  knew  a  few  weeks  would  entirely  restore 
him.  The  good  conduct  allowance,  or  ''copper,"  which 
they  had  been  forced  to  allow  him  for  exemplary  conduct, 
had  cut  ten  months  off  his  sentence.  And  now  in  mid- 
August  of  1925,  there  he  stood,  a  free  man  again,  with 
purpose  still  unshaken  and  with  a  woman  by  his  side 
who  shared  his  high  ambition  and  asked  no  better  lot 
than  to  work  with  him  toward  the  one  great  aim — So 
cialism! 

Now,  as  these  two  walked  side  by  side  along  the  sun 
baked  street  of  the  sweltering  Southern  town,  Gabriel 
was  saying: 

"So  I  haven't  changed  as  much  as  you  expected?  I'm 
glad  of  that,  Kate.  Only  superficial  changes,  at  most. 
Just  give  me  a  little  time  to  pull  together  and  get  my  legs 
under  me  again,  and — forward  march!  Charge  the 
forts!  Eh,  Catherine ?" 

She  nodded,  smiling.     Smiles  were  rare  with  her,  now. 


238  THE     AIR     TRUST 

She  had  grown  sober  and  serious,  in  these  years  of  work 
and  battle  and  stern  endeavor.  The  Catherine  Flint  of 
the  old  times  had  vanished — the  Catherine  of  country  club 
days,  and  golf  and  tennis,  and  the  opera — the  Catherine 
of  Newport,  of  the  horse  show,  of  Paris,  of  "society." 
In  her  place  now  lived  another  and  a  nobler  woman,  a 
woman  known  and  loved  the  length  and  breadth  of  the 
land,  a  woman  exalted  and  strengthened  by  new,  high 
and  splendid  race-aspirations;  by  a  vision  of  supernal 
beauty — the  vision  of  the  world  for  the  workers,  each 
for  all  and  all  for  each! 

She  had  grown  more  mature  and  beautiful,  with  the 
passing  years.  No  mark  of  time  had  yet  laid  its  hand 
upon  her  face  or  figure.  Young,  still — she  was  now  but 
five-and-twenty,  and  Gabriel  only  twenty-eight — she 
walked  like  a  goddess,  lithe,  strong  and  filled  with  over 
flowing  vigor.  Her  eyes  glowed  with  noble  enthusiasms ; 
and  every  thought,  every  impulse  and  endeavor  now  was 
upward,  onward,  filled  with  stimulus  and  hope  and  cour 
age. 

Thus,  a  braver,  broader  and  more  splendid  woman  than 
Gabriel  had  known  in  the  other  days  of  his  first  love 
for  her — the  days  when  he  had  wished  her  penniless,  the 
days  when  her  prospective  millions  stood  between  them 
— she  walked  beside  him  now.  And  they  two,  comrades, 
understood  each  other;  spoke  the  same  language,  shared 
the  same  aspirations,  dreamed  the  same  wondrous  dreams. 
Their  smile,  as  their  eyes  met,  was  in  itself  a  benediction 
and  a  warm  caress. 

"Charge  the  forts !"  Gabriel  repeated.  "Yes,  Kate,  the 
battle  still  goes  on,  no  matter  what  happens.  Here  and 
there,  soldiers  fall  and  die.  Even  battalions  perish;  but 


BACK    IN    THE    SUNLIGHT        239 

the  war  continues.  When  I  think  of  all  the  fights  you've 
been  in,  since  I  was  put  away,  I'm  unspeakably  envious. 
You've  been  through  the  Tawana  Valley  strike,  the  big 
Consolidated  Western  lockout  and  the  Imperial  Mills 
massacre.  You  were  a  delegate  to  the  1923  Revolution 
ary  Congress,  in  Berlin,  and  saw  the  slaughter  in  Unter 
den  Linden — helped  nurse  the  wounded  comrades,  inside 
the  Treptow  Park  barricades.  Then,  out  in  Cal 
ifornia " 

She  checked  him,  with  a  hand  on  his  arm. 

"Please  don't,  Gabriel,"  she  entreated.  "What  I  have 
done  has  been  so  little,  so  terribly,  pitiably  little,  com 
pared  to  what  needs  to  be  done!  And  then  remember, 
too,  that  in  and  through  all,  this  thought  has  run,  like 
the  red  thread  through  every  cable  of  the  British  navy — 
the  thought  that  in  my  every  activity,  I  am  working 
against  my  own  father,  combatting  him,  being  as  it  were 
a  traitor  and " 

"Traitor?"  exclaimed  the  man.  "Never!  The  bond 
between  you  two  is  forever  broken.  You  recognize  in 
him,  now,  an  enemy  of  all  mankind.  Waldron  is  an 
other.  So  is  every  one  of  the  Air  Trust  group — that  is 
to  say,  the  small  handful  of  men  who  to-day  own  the 
whole  world  and  everything  in  it. 

"Your  father,  as  President  of  that  world-corporation 
which  potentially  controls  two  thousand  millions  of  hu 
man  beings — and  which  will,  tomorrow,  absolutely  con 
trol  them,  is  no  longer  any  father  of  yours. 

"He  is  a  world-emperor,  and  his  few  associates  are 
princes  of  the  royal  house.  Your  life  and  thought  have 
forever  broken  with  him.  No  more  can  bonds  and  ties 
of  blood  hold  you.  Your  larger  duty  calls  to  battle 


240  THE     AIR     TRUST 

against  this  man.  Treachery?  A  thousand  times,  no! 
Treason  to  tyrants  is  obedience  to  God !  Or,  if  not  God, 
then  to  mankind ! 

He  paused  and  looked  at  her.  They  had  now  reached 
a  little  park,  some  half  mile  from  the  grim  and  dour  old 
walls  of  the  Federal  Pen.  Trees  and  grass  and  playing 
children  seemed  to  invite  them  to  stop  and  rest.  Though 
strong,  moreover,  Gabriel  had  for  so  long  been  unused 
to  walking,  that  even  this  short  distance  had  tired  him 
a  little.  And  the  oppressive  heat  had  them  both  by  the 
throat. 

"Shall  we  sit  down  here  and  wait  a  little?"  asked  he, 
"Plan  a  little,  see  where  we  are  and  what's  to  be  done 
next?" 

She  nodded  assent. 

"Of  course,"  she  said,  "even  if  I  could  have  got  word 
in  to  you,  I  wouldn't  have  given  you  our  real  plans." 

"Hardly !"  he  exclaimed.  Then,  coming  to  a  fountain, 
they  sat  down  on  a  bench  close  by.  Nobody,  they  made 
sure,  was  within  ear-shot. 

"Thank  God,"  he  breathed,  "that  you,  Kate,  and  only 
you,  met  me  as  I  came  out!  It  was  a  grand  good  idea, 
wasn't  it,  to  keep  my  time  of  liberation  a  secret  from 
the  comrades  ?  Otherwise  there  might  have  been  a  crowd 
on  hand,  and  various  kinds  of  foolishness;  and  time  and 
energy  would  have  been  used  that  might  have  been  bet 
ter  spent  in  working  for  the  Revolution!" 

She  looked  at  him  a  trifle  curiously. 

"You  forget,"  said  she,  "that  all  public  meetings  have 
been  prohibited,  ever  since  last  April.  Federal  statute — 
the  new  Penfield  Bill— The  Muzzier'  as  we  call  it." 

"That's  so!"  he  murmured.    "I  forgot.    Fact  is,  Kate, 


BACK    IN    THE    SUNLIGHT        241 

I  am  out  of  touch  with  things.  While  you've  been  fight 
ing,  I've  been  buried  alive.  Now,  I  must  learn  much, 
before  I  can  jump  back  into  the  war  again.  And  above 
all,  I  must  lose  my  identity.  That's  the  first  and  most 
essential  thing  of  all !" 

"Of  course,"  she  assented.  "They— the  Air  Trust 
World-corporation — will  trail  you,  everywhere  you  go. 
All  this,  as  you  know,  has  been  provided  for.  You  must 
vanish  a  while." 

"Indeed  I  must.  If  they  'jobbed'  me  like  that,  in 
1921,  what  won't  they  do  now  in  1925?" 

"They  won't  ever  get  you,  again,  Gabriel,"  she  an 
swered,  "if  your  wits  and  ours  combined,  can  beat  them. 
True,  the  Movement  has  been  badly  shot  to  pieces.  That 
is,  its  visible  organization  has  suffered,  and  it's  outlawed. 
But  under  the  surface,  Gabriel,  you  haven't  an  idea  of 
its  spread  and  power.  It's  tremendous — it's  a  volcano 
waiting  to  burst !  Let  the  moment  come,  the  leader  rise, 
the  fire  burst  forth,  and  God  knows  what  may  not  hap 
pen  !" 

"Splendid!"  exclaimed  Gabriel.  "The  battle  calls  me, 
like  a  clarion-call !  But  we  must  act  with  circumspection. 
The  Flutes,  powerful  as  they  now  are,  won't  need  even 
the  shadow  of  an  excuse  to  plant  me  for  life,  or  slug  or 
shoot  me.  Tilings  were  rotten  enough,  then;  but  to-day 
they're  worse.  The  hand  of  this  Air  Trust  monopoly, 
grasping  every  line  of  work  and  product  in  the  world, 
has  got  the  lid  nailed  fast.  We're  all  slaves,  every  man 
and  woman  of  us.  Even  our  Socialists  in  Congress  can  do 
nothing,  with  all  these  muzzling  and  sedition  and  trea 
son  bills,  and  with  this  conscription  law  just  through. 
Now  that  the  government — the  Air  Trust,  that  is  to  say 


242  THE    AIR     TRUST 

— is  running  the  railways  and  telegraphs  and  telephones, 
a  strike  is  treason — and  treason  is  death!  Kate,  this 
year  of  grace,  1925,  is  worse  than  ever  I  dreamed  it 
would  be.  Oh,  infinitely  worse!  No  wonder  our  move 
ment  has  been  driven  largely  underground.  No  wonder 
that  the  war  of  mass  and  class  is  drawing  near — the 
actual,  physical  war  between  the  Air  Trust  few  and  the 
vast,  toiling,  suffering,  stifling  world !" 

She  nodded. 

"Yes,"  said  she,  "it's  coming,  and  soon.  Things  are 
as  you  say,  and  even  worse  than  you  say,  Gabriel.  I 
know  more  of  them,  now,  than  you  can  know.  Remem 
ber  London's  'Iron  Heel  ?'  When  I  first  read  it  I  thought 
it  fanciful  and  wild.  God  knows  I  was  mistaken !  Lon 
don  didn't  put  it  half  strongly  enough.  The  beginning 
was  made  when  the  National  Mounted  Police  came  in. 
All  the  rest  has  swiftly  followed.  If  you  and  I  live  five 
years  longer,  Gabriel,  we'll  see  a  harsher,  sterner  and 
more  murderous  trampling  of  that  Heel  than  ever  Com 
rade  Jack  imagined !" 

"Right!"  said  he.  "And  for  that  very  reason,  Kate, 
I've  got  to  go  into  hiding  till  my  beard  and  hair  grow 
and  I  can  reappear  as  a  different  man.  Don't  look,  just 
now,  but  in  a  minute  take  a  peek.  Over  on  that  third 
bench,  on  the  other  side  of  the  park,  see  that  man  ?  Well, 
lie's  a  'shadow.'  There  were  three  waiting  for  me,  at  the 
prison  gates.  You  couldn't  spot  them,  but  I  could.  One 
was  that  Italian  banana-seller  that  stood  at  the  curb,  on 
the  first  corner.  Another  was  a  taxi  driver.  And  this 
one,  over  there,  is  the  third.  From  now  till  they  'get' 
me  again,  they'll  follow  me  like  bloodhounds.  I  can't 
go  free,  to  do  my  work  and  take  part  in  the  impend- 


BACK    IN    THE    SUNLIGHT        243 

ing  war,  till  I  shake  them.  Look,  now,  do  you  see  the 
one  I  mean?" 

Cautiously  the  girl  looked  round,  with  casual  glance 
as  though  to  see  a  little  boy  playing  by  the  fountain. 

"Yes,"  she  murmured.  "Who  is  he?  Do  you  know 
his  name?" 

"No,"  answered  Gabriel.  "His  name,  no.  But  I  re 
member  him,  well  enough.  He's  the  larger  of  the  two 
detectives  I  knocked  out,  in  that  room  in  Rochester.  Be 
side  his  pay,  he's  got  a  personal  motive  in  landing  me 
back  in  'stir,'  or  sending  me  'up  the  escape,'  as  prison 
slang  names  a  penitentiary  and  a  death.  So  then,"  he 
added,  "what's  the  first  thing?  Where  shall  I  go,  and 
how,  to  hide  and  metamorphose?  I'm  in  your  hands, 
now,  Kate.  More  than  four  years  out  of  the  world,  re 
member,  makes  a  fellow  want  a  little  lift  when  he  comes 
back!" 

She  smiled  and  nodded  comprehension. 

"Don't  explain,  Gabriel,"  said  she.  "I  understand.  And 
I've  got  just  the  place  in  mind  for  you.  Also,  the  way 
to  get  there.  You  see,  comrade,  we've  been  planning  on 
this  release.  When  can  you  go?" 

"When?  Right  now!"  exclaimed  Gabriel,  standing 
up.  "The  quicker,  the  better.  Every  minute  I  lose  in 
getting  myself  ready  to  jump  back  into  the  fight,  is  a 
precious  treasure  that  can  never  be  regained!" 

"Go,  then,"  said  she,  with  pride  in  her  eyes.  "I  will 
wait  here.  Don't  think  of  me;  leave  me  here;  I  am  self- 
reliant  in  every  way.  Go  to  the  Cuthbert  House,  on  Des- 
plaines  Street.  Everything  has  been  arranged  for  your 
escape.  Every  link  in  the  chain  is  complete.  Remember, 
we  are  working  more  underground,  now,  than  when  you 


244  THE     AIR     TRUST 

were  sentenced.  And  our  machinery  is  almost  perfect. 
Register  at  the  hotel  and  take  a  room  for  a  week. 
Then " 

" Register,  under  my  own  name?"  asked  he. 

"Under  your  own  name.  Stay  there  two  days.  You 
won't  be  molested  so  soon,  and  things  won't  be  ready  for 
you  till  the  third  day.  On  that  day " 

"Well,  what  then?" 

"A  message  will  come  for  you,  that's  all.  Obey  it. 
You  have  nothing  more  to  do. 

He  nodded. 

"I  understand,"  said  he.  "But,  Kate — who's  paying 
for  all  this  ?  Not  you?  I — I  can't  have  you  paying,  now 
that  every  dollar  you  have  must  be  earned  by  your  own 
labor!" 

She  smiled  a  smile  of  wonderful  beauty. 

"Foolish,  rebellious  boy!"  said  she.  "Have  no  fear! 
All  expense  will  be  borne  by  the  Party,  just  as  the  Party 
paid  your  fine.  It  needs  you  and  must  have  you;  and 
were  the  cost  ten  times  as  great,  would  bear  it  to  get  you 
back!  Remember,  Gabriel,  the  Party  is  far  larger  than 
when  you  were  buried  alive  in  a  cell.  Even  though  in 
some  ways  outlawed  and  suppressed,  its  potential  power 
is  tremendous.  All  it  needs  is  the  electric  spark  to  cause 
the  world-shaking  explosion.  All  that  keeps  us  from 
power  now  is  the  Iron  Heel — that,  and  the  clutch  of  the 
Air  Trust  already  crushing  and  mangling  us ! 

"Go,  now,"  she  concluded.  "Go,  and  rest  a  while, 
and  wait.  All  shall  be  well.  But  first,  you  must  get  back 
your  strength  completely,  and  find  yourself,  and  take 
your  place  again  in  the  ranks  of  the  great,  subterranean 
army!" 


BACK    IN    THE    SUNLIGHT        245 

"And  shall  I  see  you  soon,  again?"  he  asked,  his  voice 
trembling  just  a  little  as  their  hands  clasped  once  more, 
and  once  more  parted. 

"You  will  see  me  soon,"  she  answered. 

"Where?" 

"In  a  safe  place,  where  we  can  plan,  and  work,  and 
organize  for  the  final  blow!  Now,  you  shall  know  no 
more.  Good-bye !" 

One  last  look  each  gave  the  other.  Their  eyes  met, 
more  caressingly  than  many  a  kiss;  and,  turning,  Gabriel 
took  his  way,  alone,  toward  Desplaines  Street 

At  the  exit  of  the  park,  he  looked  around. 

There  Catherine  sat,  on  the  bench.  But,  seemingly 
quite  oblivious  to  everything,  she  was  now  reading  a  lit 
tle  book.  Though  he  lingered  a  moment,  hoping  to  get 
some  signal  from  her,  she  never  stirred  or  looked  up 
from  the  page. 

Sighing,  with  a  strange  feeling  of  sudden  loneliness 
and  a  vast,  empty  yearning  in  his  heart,  Gabriel  con 
tinued  on  his  way,  toward  what?  He  knew  not. 

The  detective  on  the  other  side  of  the  park,  no  longer 
sat  there.  Somehow,  somewhere,  he  had  disappeared. 


CHAPTER  XXVIIL 
IN  THE  REFUGE. 

HAR  on  the  western  slopes  of  Clingman  Dome  in  the 
great  Smoky  Mountains  of  North  Carolina,,  a 
broad,  low-built  bungalow  stood  facing  the  setting  sun. 
Vast  stretches  of  pine  forest  shut  it  off  from  civilization 
and  the  prying  activities  of  Plutocracy.  The  nearest  settle 
ment  was  Ravens,  twenty  miles  away  to  eastward,  across 
inaccessible  ridges  and  ravines.  Running  far  to  south 
ward,  the  railway  left  this  wilderness  untouched.  High 
overhead,  an  eagle  soared  among  the  "thunder-heads" 
that  presaged  a  storm  up  Sevier  Pass.  And,  red  through 
the  haze  to  westward,  the  great  huge  sunball  slid  down 
the  heavens  toward  the  tumbled,  jagged  mass  of  peaks 
that  rimmed  the  far  horizon. 

Within  the  bungalow,  a  murmur  of  voices  sounded; 
and  from  the  huge  stone  chimney  a  curl  of  smoke,  aris 
ing,  told  of  the  evening  meal,  within,  now  being  made 
ready.  On  the  wide  piazza  sat  a  man,  writing  at  a  table 
of  plain  boards  roughly  pegged  together.  Still  a  trifle 
pale,  yet  with  a  look  of  health  and  vigor,  he  sat  there 
hard  at  work,  writing  as  fast  as  pen  could  travel.  Hardly 
a  word  he  changed.  Sheet  by  sheet  he  wrote,  and  pushed 
them  aside  and  still  worked  on.  Some  of  the  pages  slid 
to  the  porch-floor,  but  he  gave  no  heed.  His  brow  was 
wrinkled  with  the  intensity  of  his  thought;  and  over  his 
face,  where  now  a  disguising  beard  was  beginning  to  be 


IN     THE     REFUGE  247 

visible,  the  light  of  the  sinking  sun  cast  as  it  were  a  kind 
of  glowing  radiance. 

At  last  the  man  looked  up,  and  smiled,  and  eyed  the 
golden  mountain-tops  far  off  across  the  valley. 

"Wonderful  aerie  in  the  hills !"  he  murmured.  "Won 
derful  retreat  and  hiding-place — wonderful  care  and  fore 
thought  to  have  made  this  possible  for  me!  How  shall 
I  ever  repay  all  this  ?  How,  save  by  giving  my  last  drop 
of  blood,  if  need  be,  for  the  final  victory?" 

He  pondered  a  moment,  still  half-thinking  of  the  poem 
he  had  just  finished,  half-reflecting  on  the  strange  events 
of  the  past  week — the  secret  ways,  by  swift  auto,  by  boat, 
by  monoplane  which  had  brought  him  hither  to  this  still 
undiscovered  refuge.  How  had  it  all  been  arranged,  he 
wondered ;  and  who  had  made  it  possible  ?  He  could  not 
tell,  as  yet.  No  information  was  forthcoming.  But  in 
his  heart  he  understood,  and  his  lips,  murmuring  the 
name  of  Catherine,  blessed  that  name  and  tenderly  re 
vered  it. 

At  last  Gabriel  bent,  picked  up  the  pages  that  had 
fallen,  and  arranged  them  all  in  order. 

"Tomorrow  this  shall  go  out  to  the  w^orld,"  said  he, 
"and  to  our  press — such  of  it  as  still  remains.  It  may 
inspire  some  fainting  heart  and  thrill  some  lagging  mind. 
Now,  that  the  final  struggle  is  at  hand,  more  than  guns 
we  need  inspiration.  More  than  force,  to  meet  the  force 
that  has  ravished  our  every  right  and  crushed  Constitu 
tion  and  Law,  alike,  we  need  spiritual  insight  and  integ 
rity.  Only  through  these,  and  by  these,  come  what  may, 
can  a  true,  lasting  victory  be  attained !" 

In  the  doorway  of  the  bungalow  a  woman  appeared, 
her  smile  illumined  by  the  sunset  warmth. 


248  THE     AIR     TRUST 

"Come,  Gabriel,"  said  she.  "We're  waiting — the 
Granthams,  Craig,  and  Brevard.  Supper's  ready.  Not 
one  of  them  will  sit  down,  till  you  come." 

"Have  I  been  delaying  you?"  asked  Gabriel,  turning 
toward  the  woman,  with  a  smile  that  matched  her  own. 

"I'm  afraid  so,  just  a  little,"  she  answered.  "But  no 
matter;  I'm  glad.  When  you  get  to  writing,  you  know, 
nothing  else  matters.  One  line  of  your  verse  is  worth 
all  the  suppers  in  the  world." 

"Nonsense!"  he  retorted.     "I'm  a  mere  scribbler!" 

"We  won't  argue  that  point,"  she  answered.  "But  at 
any  rate,  you're  done,  now.  So  come  along,  boy — or 
the  comrades  will  begin  'dividing  up'  without  us ;  for  this 
mountain  air  won't  brook  delay." 

Gabriel  took  a  long  breath,  stretched  his  powerful  arms 
out  toward  the  mountains,  and  raised  his  face  to  the  last 
light  of  day. 

"Nature!"  he  whispered.  "Ever  beautiful  and  ever 
young4!  Ah,  could  man  but  learn  thy  lessons  and  live 
close  to  thy  great  heart !" 

Then,  turning,  he  followed  Catherine  into  the  bun 
galow. 

Beautiful  and  restful  though  the  outside  was,  the  in 
terior  was  more  restful  and  more  charming  still. 

In  the  vast  fireplace,  to  left,  a  fire  of  pine  roots  was 
crackling.  The  room  was  filled  with  their  pitchy,  whole 
some  perfume,  with  the  dancing  light  of  their  blaze  and 
with  the  warmth  made  grateful  by  that  mountain  height. 

Simple  and  comfortable  all  the  furnishings  were,  hand- 
wrought  for  use  and  pleasure.  Big  chairs  invited.  Broad 
couches  offered  rest.  No  hunting-trophies,  no  heads  of 
slaughtered  wild  things  disfigured  the  walls,  as  in  most 


IN     THE     REFUGE  249 

bungalows;  but  the  flickering  firelight  showed  pictures 
that  inspired  thought  and  carried  lessons  home — pictures 
of  toil  and  of  repose,  pictures  of  life,  and  love,  and  simple 
joy — pictures  of  tragedy,  of  reality  and  deep  significance. 
Here  one  saw  Millet's  "Sower/'  and  "Gleaners"  and  "The 
Man  with  the  Hoe."  There,  Fritel's  "The  Conquerors," 
and  Stuck's  "War."  A  large  copy  of  Bernard's  "Labor," 
— the  sensation  of  the  1922  Paris  Salon— hung  above  the 
mantelpiece,  on  which  stood  Rodin's  "Miner"  in  bronze. 
Portraits  of  Marx,  Engels,  LaSalle  and  Debs,  with  others 
loved  and  honored  in  the  Movement,  showed  between 
original  sketches  by  Walter  Crane,  Balfour  Kerr,  Art 
Young  and  Ryan  Walker.  And  in  the  well-filled  book 
shelves  at  the  right,  Socialist  books  in  abundance  all  told 
the  same  tale  to  the  observer — that  this  was  a  Socialist 
nest  high  up  there  among  the  mountains,  and  that  every 
thought  and  word  and  deed  was  inspired  by  one  great 
ideal  and  one  alone — the  Revolution ! 

At  a  plain  but  well-covered  table  near  the  western  win 
dows,  where  fading  sunlight  helped  firelight  to  illumine 
the  little  company,  sat  three  men — two  of  them  armed 
with  heavy  automatics — and  a  woman.  Another  woman, 
Catherine,  was  standing  by  her  chair  and  beckoning  Gab 
riel  to  his. 

"Come,  Comrade!"  she  exclaimed.  "If  you  delay 
much  longer,  everything  will  be  stone  cold,  and  then  beg 
forgiveness  if  you  dare!" 

Gabriel  laughed. 

"Your  own  fault,  if  you  wait  for  me,"  he  answered, 
seating  himself.  "You  know  how  it  is  when  you  get  to 
scribbling — you  never  know  when  to  stop.  And  the 
scenery,  up  here,  won't  let  you  go.  Positively  fascinating, 


250  THE     AIR     TRUST 

that  view  is !  If  the  Flutes  knew  of  it,  they'd  put  a  sum 
mer  resort  here,  and  coin  millions!" 

"Yes,"  answered  Craig,  once  Congressman  Craig,  but 
now  hiding  from  the  Air  Trust  spies.  "And  what's  more, 
they'd  mighty  soon  confiscate  this  resting-up  place  of  the 
Comrades,  and  have  us  back  behind  bars,  or  worse.  But 
they  don't  know  about  it,  and  aren't  likely  to.  Thank 
Heaven  for  at  least  one  place  the  Party  can  maintain  as 
an  asylum  for  our  people  when  too  hard-pressed!  Not 
a  road  within  ten  miles  of  here.  No  way  to  reach  this 
place,  masked  here  in  the  cliffs  and  mountains,  except 
by  aeroplane.  Not  one  chance  in  a  thousand,  fellows,  that 
they'll  ever  find  it.  Confusion  take  them  all !" 

The  meal  progressed,  with  plenty  of  serious  and  ear 
nest  discussion  of  the  pressing  problems  now  close  at 
hand.  Brevard,  a  short,  spare  man,  editor  of  the  recent 
ly-suppressed  "San  Francisco  Revolutionist"  and  now  in 
hiding,  made  a  few  trenchant  remarks,  from  time  to  time. 
Grantham  and  his  wife,  both  active  speakers  on  the  "Un 
derground  Circuit"  and  both  under  sentence  of  long  im 
prisonment,  said  little.  Most  of  the  conversation  was  be 
tween  Catherine,  Craig  and  Gabriel.  Long  before  the 
supper  was  done,  lamps  had  to  be  brought  and  curtains 
lowered.  At  last  the  meal  was  over. 

"Dessert,  now,  Gabriel !"  exclaimed  Grantham.  "Your 
turn !" 

"Eh?  What?"  asked  Armstrong.  "My  turn  for 
what?" 

"Your  turn  to  do  your  part !  Don't  think  that  you're 
going  to  write  a  poem  and  then  put  it  in  your  pocket, 
that  way.  Come,  out  with  it!" 

Gabriel's  protests  availed  nothing.     The  others  over-- 


IN     THE     REFUGE  251 

bore  him.  And  at  last,  unwillingly,  he  drew  out  the 
manuscript  and  spread  it  open  on  his  knee. 

"You  really  want  to  hear  this?"  he  demanded.  "If 
you  can  possibly  spare  me,  I  wish  you  would!" 

For  all  answer,  Craig  pushed  a  lamp  over  toward  him. 
The  warm  light  on  Gabriel's  face,  now  slightly  bearded, 
and  on  his  strong,  corded  throat,  made  a  striking  picture 
as  he  cast  his  eyes  on  the  manucript  and  in  vibrant  and 
harmonious  voice,  read: 

I  SAW  THE  SOCIALIST 

I  saw  the  Socialist  sitting  at  a  great  Banquet  of  Men, 

Sitting  with  honored  leaders  of  the  blind,  unwitting  Mul 
titude; 

I  saw  him  there  with  the  writers,  editors,  painters,  men 
of  letters, 

Legislators  and  judges,  the  Leaders  of  the  People, 

Leaders  flushed  zvith  the  wines  of  price,  eating  costly  and 
rare  foods, 

Making  loud  talk,  and  boastful,  of  that  marvel,  American 
Liberty! 

Thinking  were  they  no  thought  of  hunger  and  pinching 
cold; 

Of  the  blue-lipped,  skinny  children,  the  thin-cJiested, 
coughing  men, 

The  dry-breasted  mothers,  the  dirt,  disease  and  ignorance, 

The  mangled  workmen,  the  tramps,  drunkards,  pickpock 
ets,  prostitutes,  thieves, 

The  mad-houses,  jails,  asylums  and  hospitals,  the  sores, 
the  blood  of  war, 


252  THE    AIR     TRUST 

And  all  the  other  wondrous  blessings  that  attend  our  civi 
lization — 

That  civilization  through  which  the  wines  and  foods  were 
given  them. 

I  saw  the  Socialist  there,  calm,  unmoved,  unsmiling, 
thoughtful, 

Sober,  serious,  full  of  dispassionate  and  prophetic  vision,, 

Not  like  the  other  men,  the  all-ivise  Leaders  of  the  People. 

The  political  economists,  the  professors,  the  militarists, 
heroes  and  statisticians; 

Not  like  the  kings  and  presidents  and  emperors,  the  nobles 
and  gold-crammed  bankers, 

But  mindful,  more  than  they,  of  the  cellars  under  the 
House  of  Life 

Where  blind  things  crawl  in  the  dark,  things  men  and  yet 
not  human, 

Things  whose  toil  makes  possible  the  Banquets  of  the 
Leaders  of  Men, 

Things  that  live  and  yet  are  not  alive;  things  that  never 
taste  of  Life; 

Things  that  make  the  rich  foods,  themselves  snatching 
•filthy  crumbs; 

Things  that  produce  the  wines  of  price,  and  must  be  con 
tent  with  lees; 

Things  that  shiver  and  cringe  and  whine,  that  snarl  some 
times, 

That  are  men  and  women  and  children,  and  yet  that  know 
not  Life! 

I  saw  the  Socialist  there;  I  sat  at  the  banquet,  beside  him, 
Listened  to   the  surging  music,  saw  all  the  lights  and 
flowers, 


IN     THE     REFUGE  253 

Flowers  and  lights  and  crystal  cups,  whereof  the  price  for 
each  . 

Might  have  brought  back  from  Potter's  Field  some  blood 
less,  starving  baby. 

I  heard  the  Leaders'  speeches,  the  turgid  oratory, 

The  well-turned  phrases  of  the  Captains,  the  rotund  bab 
ble  of  prosperity, 

(Prosperity  for  whom?  Nay,  ask  not  troublesome  ques 
tions!) 

The  Captains'  vaunting  I  heard,  their  boasts  of  glory  and 
victory, 

While  red,  red,  red  their  hands  dripped  red  with  the  blood 
of  the  butchered  workers. 

I  heard  the  Judges'  self-glorification,  Quixotic  fighting  of 
windmills, 

Heard  also  the  unclean  jests  that  those  respected  Leaders 
told. 

And  as  I  looked  and  listened,  I  still  observed  the  So 
cialist, 

Unmoved  and  patient  and  serious,  calm,  full  of  sober  re 
flections. 

Then  there  spake  (among  many  others)  an  honored  and 

fidl-paunched  Bishop. 

Rubicund  he  ivas,  and  of  partly  habit  of  bodyf 
Shepherd  of  a  well-pastured  flock,  mightily  content  with 

God, 
Out  of  whose  omnipotent  Hand  (no  doubt)  the  blessings 

of  his  life  descended. 
I  heard  this  exponent  of  Christ  the  Crucified,  Christ  the 

Carpenter, 


254  THE    AIR    TRUST 

Christ  the  Leader  of  Workingmen,  the  Agitator,  the  Dis 
turber, 

Christ  the  Lab  or- organizer,  Christ  the  Archetypal  So 
cialist, 

Friend  of  the  dwellers  in  the  pits  of  Life,  Consoler  of 
earth's  exploited, 

Who  once  with  the  lash  scourged  from  the  Temple  the 
unclean  graft-brood  of  usurers. 

And  the  rotund  Bishop's  words  were  as  the  crackling  of 
dry  thorns 

Under  a  pot,  bubbling  without  use  in  the  desert  of  dreary 
platitudes. 

The  story  he  told  was  spiced  and  garnished  with  profane 
words, 

Whereat  the  Leaders  laughed  in  their  cups,,  making  great 
show  of  merriment, 

So  that  the  banquet-hall  rang,  and  wine  was  spilt  on  the 
linen, 

Wine  as  red  as  blood — the  blood  of  the  shattered  miner, 

Blood  of  the  boy  in  the  rifle-pits,  blood  of  the  coughing 
child-slave, 

Blood  of  the  mangled  trainman,  blood  that  the  Carpenter 
shed. 

And  still  I  watched  the  Socialist.  Sober,  judicial,  ob 
servant 

And  full  of  greater  wisdom  he  was  than  to  laugh  with 
the  tipsy  Leaders. 

His  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  Bishop,  vice-gerent  of  God 
upon  earth. 

And  as  I  watched  the  Socialist,  the  unmoved,  the  con 
templative  one, 


IN     THE     REFUGE  255 

He  thoughtfully   took  his  pencil,  he  took  the  fine  and 

large  card 
Whereon  the  names  of  the  rich  foods  and  all  the  costly 

wines  were  printed, 
And  made  a  few  notes  of  the  feast,  notes  of  the  Bishop's 

speech, 
Notes  to  remind  him  to  search  the  slums  for  the  great, 

God-given  prosperity 
Which  all  the  Judges,  Lawmakers,  Captains  and  Leaders 

knew  to  be  "our"  portion; 
Notes  of  the  flowers,  the  wine,  the  lights,  the  music,  the 

splendor, 

Notes  of  the  Leaders'  oratory,  notes  of  the  Bishop's  deep- 
voiced  unctiousness, 

Notes  he  made;  and  as  I  looked  at  the  notes  he  was  care 
fully  writing. 
The  words  ran  red  like  wine  and  blood,  they  biased  like 

the  blazing  lights! 
Words  tJicy  zvere  of  blood  and  fire,  that  spread,  that  filled 

the  banquet-hull. 
Words  of  old,  I  read  thewr—"MENE,  MENE,  TEKEL, 

UPHARSHIN!— 
Weighed  in  the  Balance  you  are,  ye  Leaders  respected  of 

men, 
You  Statesmen,  Lawmakers,  Judges,  Captains,  Bishops, 

vice-gerents  of  God! 
Weighed  and  tried  and  found  wanting.    Give  way,  now, 

to  what  shall  come  after! 
Make  ye  way  for  the  Men  who  shall  do  what  ye  have  but 

neglected  and  shirked! 
Make  ye  ivay  for  a  Time  which  hath  more  than  Power 

and  Greed  for  its  watchwords! 


256  THE    AIR     TRUST 

Soon  your  day  shall  decline  forever,  your  sun  shall  sink 

and  shall  vanish. 
Then  from  the  Cellars  of  Life  the  darkness-dwellers  shall 

issue, 
Greeting  another  dawn  which  shall  have  more  than  pain 

for  its  portion. 
Then  no  more  shall  the  humble,  the  lowly,  the  friends  of 

the  Nazarene  Carpenter 
Be  starved,  be  mangled  for  gold,  be  crucified,  slaughtered, 

bled. 
Make  ye  way!     .     .     .     Make  ye  way!     .     .     ." 

Such  was  the  message  I  read,  the  words  of  that  fire-writ 

warning. 
Then  peace  came  back  to  my  spirit,  calm  peace,  and  hope 

and  patience : 

Then,  through  my  anger  and  heat,  I  thought  of  the  Retri 
bution. 
But  even  more  clearly  I  saw  the  New  Birth  of  this  weary 

world, 
This  world  now  groaning  in  chains,  with  the  bloody  sweat 

of  oppression. 
These   things  and  many  more,  such  as  were  hard   to 

write  of, 
I  read  in  the  words  of  the  Socialist,  patient,  peaceful  and 

sober, 
Full  of  prophetic  vision,  above  all  things  hopeful  and 

patient, 
Written  in  living  flame  at  the  Feast  of  the  Leaders  of 

Men. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 
"APRES  Nous  LE  DELUGE!" 

aS  Gabriel's  voice  fell  to  silence,  after  the  last  words, 
a  stillness  came  upon  the  lamp-lit  room,  a  hush 
broken  only  by  the  snapping  of  the  pine-root  fire  on  the 
hearth  and  by  the  busy  ticking  of  the  clock  upon  the  chim- 
neypiece.  Then,  after  a  minute's  pause,  Craig  reached 
over  and  took  Gabriel  by  the  hand. 

"I  salute  you,  O  poet  of  the  Revolution  now  impend 
ing!"  he  cried,  while  Catherine's  eyes  gleamed  bright  with 
tears.  "Would  God  that  /  could  write  like  that,  old 
man!" 

"And  would  God  that  my  paper  was  still  being  issued !" 
Brevard  added,  making  a  gesture  with  the  pipe  that,  in 
his  eagerness  to  hear,  he  had  allowed  to  die.  "If  it  were 
I'd  give  that  poem  my  front  page,  and  fling  its  message 
full  in  the  faces  of  Plutocracy !" 

Gabriel  smiled  a  bit  nervously. 

"Don't,  please  don't,"  he  begged.  "If  you  really  do 
like  it  help  me  spread  it.  Don't  waste  words  on  praise, 
but  plan  with  me,  tonight,  how  we  can  get  this  to  the 
people — how  we  can  perfect  our  final  arrangements — 
what  we  must  do,  now,  at  once,  to  meet  the  Air  Trust 
and  defeat  it  before  its  terrible  and  unrelenting  grip  closes 
on  the  throat  of  the  world!" 

"Right!"  said  Craig.  "We  must  act  at  once,  while 
there's  yet  time.  To-day,  all  seems  safe.  The  Air  Trust 
spies  haven't  ferreted  this  place  out.  A  week  from  now, 


258  THE     AIR     TRUST 

they  may  have,  and  one  of  the  most  secure  and  useful  So 
cialist  refuges  in  the  country  may  be  only  a  heap  of  ashes 
— like  the  ones  at  Kenwyck,  Hampden,  Mount  Desert 
and  Loftiss.  Every  day  is  precious.  Every  one  helps  to 
perfect  Gabriel's  disguise  and  adds  materially  to  his 
strength." 

"True,"  assented  Gabriel.  "We  mustn't  wait  too  long, 
now.  That  last  report  we  got  yesterday,  by  our  wire 
less,  ought  to  stimulate  us.  Brainard  says,  in  it,  that  the 
Air  Trust  people  are  now  putting  the  finishing  touches 
on  the  Niagara  plant.  That  will  give  them  condensing 
machinery  for  over  90,000,000  horsepower,  all  told.  As 
I  see  the  thing,  it  looks  absolutely  as  though,  when  that 
is  done,  the  whole  Capitalist  system  of  the  world  will 
center  right  there — focus  there,  as  at  a  point.  Let  kings 
and  emperors  continue  to  strut  and  mouth  vain  phrases; 
let  our  own  President  and  Congress  make  the  motions 
of  governing;  even  let  Wall  Street  play  at  finance  and 
power.  All,  all  are  empty  and  meaningless! 

"Power  has  been  sucked  dry,  out  of  them  all,  com 
rades.  You  know  as  well  as  I  know — better,  perhaps — 
that  all  real  power  in  the  world,  to-day,  whether  economic 
or  political — nay,  even  the  power  of  life  and  death,  the 
power  of  breath  or  strangulation,  has  clotted  at  Niagara, 
in  the  central  offices  of  the  Air  Trust ;  nay,  right  in  Flint 
and  Waldron's  own  inner  office!" 

Gabriel  had  stood  up,  while  speaking;  and  now,  pacing 
the  floor  of  the  big  living-room,  glanced  first  at  one  eager 
and  familiar  face,  then  at  another. 

"Comrades,"  said  he,  "we  should  not  sleep,  tonight. 
We  should  get  out  all  our  plans  and  data,  all  the  dis 
patches  that  have  come  to  us  hen*  all  the  information  at 


"APRES  NOUS  LE  DELUGE"  259 

hand  about  our  organization,  whether  open  or  subter 
ranean.  We  should  make  this  room  and  this  time,  in 
fact,  the  place  and  the  hour  for  the  planning  of  the  last 
great  blow  on  which  hangs  the  fate  of  the  world.  If  it 
succeed,  the  human  race  goes  free  again.  If  it  fail — 
and  God  forbid! — then  the  whole  world  will  lie  in  the 
grip  of  Flint  and  Waldron!  With  our  other  centers 
broken  up  and  under  espionage,  our  press  forced  into  im 
potence — save  our  underground  press — and  political 
action  now  rendered  farcical  as  ever  it  was  in  Mexico, 
when  Diaz  ruled,  we  have  but  one  recourse!" 

"And  that  is  ?"  asked  Catherine.    "The  general  strike  ?" 

"A  final,  general,  paralyzing  strike;  and  with  it,  the 
actual,  physical  destruction  of  the  colossal  crime  of 
crimes,  the  Air  Trust  works  at  Niagara!" 

A  little  silence  followed.  They  all  drew  round  the 
reading-table,  now,  near  the  fireplace.  Mrs.  Grantham 
brought  a  lamp;  and  Brevard,  opening  a  chest  near  the 
book-case,  fetched  a  portfolio  of  papers,  dispatches,  plans, 
reports  and  data  of  all  kinds. 

"Gabriel's  right,"  said  he.  "The  time  is  ripe,  now, 
or  will  be  in  a  week  or  so.  Nothing  can  be  gained  by 
delaying  any  longer.  Every  day  adds  to  their  power  and 
may  weaken  ours.  Our  organization,  for  the  strike  and 
the  attack  on  the  works,  is  as  complete  as  we  can  make 
it.  We  must  come  to  extreme  measures,  at  once,  or 
world-strangulation  will  set  in,  and  we  shall  be  eternally 
too  late!" 

"Extreme  measures,  yes,"  said  Gabriel,  while  Brevard 
spread  the  papers  out  and  sorted  them,  and  Craig  drew 
contemplatively  at  his  pipe.  "The  masters  would  have 
it  so.  Our  one-time  academic  discussion  about  ways  and 


260  THE     AIR     TRUST 

means  has  become  absurd,  in  the  face  of  plutocratic  sav 
agery.  We're  up  against  facts,  now,  not  theories.  God 
knows  it's  against  the  dictates  of  my  heart  to  do  what 
must  be  done;  but  it's  that  or  stand  back  and  see  the 
world  be  murdered,  together  with  our  own  selves !  And 
in  a  case  of  self-defense,  no  measures  are  unjustifiable. 

"Whatever  happens  our  hands  are  clean.  The  pluto 
crats  are  the  attacking  force.  They  have  chosen,  and 
must  take  the  consequences;  they  have  sown,  and  must 
reap.  One  by  one,  they  have  limited  and  withdrawn 
every  political  right.  They  have  taken  away  free  speech 
and  free  assemblage,  free  press  and  universal  suffrage. 
They  have  limited  the  right  to  vote,  by  property  qualifi 
cations  that  have  deprived  the  proletariat  o>f  every  chance 
to  make  their  will  felt.  They  have  put  through  this  Na 
tional  Censorship  outrage  and — still  worse — the  National 
Mounted  Police  Bill,  making  Cossack  rule  supreme  in  the 
United  States  of  America,  as  they  have  made  it  in  the 
United  States  of  Europe. 

"Before  they  elected  that  tool  of  tools,  President  Sup 
ple,  in  1920,  on  the  Anti- Socialist  ticket,  we  still  had 
some  constitutional  rights  left — a  few.  But  now,  all  are 
gone.  With  the  absorption  and  annexation  of  Canada, 
Mexico  and  Central  America,  slavery  full  and  absolute 
settled  down  upon  us.  The  unions  simply  crumbled  to 
dust  as  you  know,  in  face  of  all  those  millions  of  Mex 
ican  peons  swamping  the  labor-market  with  starvation- 
wage  labor.  Then,  as  we  all  remember,  came  the  terrible 
series  of  strikes  in  1921  and  1922,  and  the  massacres  at 
Hopedale  and  Boulder,  at  Los  Angeles  and  Pittsburg, 
and,  worst  of  all,  Gary.  That  finished  what  few  rights 
were  left,  that  killing  did.  And  then  came  the  army  of 


"APRES  NOUS  LE  DELUGE"  261 

spies,  and  the  proscriptions,  and  the  electrocution  of  those 
hundred  and  eleven  editors,  speakers  and  organizers — 
why  bring  up  all  these  things  that  we  all  know  so  well? 
We  were  willing  to  play  the  game  fair  and  square,  and 
they  refused.  Say  that,  and  you  say  all. 

"No  need  to  dwell  on  details,  comrades.  The  Air  Trust 
has  had  its  will  with  the  world,  so  far.  It  has  crushed 
all  opposition  as  relentlessly  as  the  car  of  Juggernaut  used- 
to  crush  its  blind,  fanatical  devotees.  True,  our  Party 
still  exists  and  has  some  standing  and  some  representa 
tives;  but  we  all  know  what  power  it  has — in  the  open! 
Not  that  much!"  And  he  snapped  his  fingers  in  the  air. 

"In  the  open,  none!"  said  Craig,  blowing  a  cloud  of 
smoke.  "I  admit  that,  Gabriel.  But,  underground — ah!" 

"Underground/'  Gabriel  took  up  the  word,  "forces  are 
now  at  work  that  can  shatter  the  whole  infernal  slavery 
to  dust!  This  way  of  working  is  not  our  choice;  it  is 
theirs.  They  would  have  it  so — now  let  them  take  their 
medicine !" 

"Yes,  yes,"  eagerly  exclaimed  Catherine,  her  face 
flushed  and  intense.  "I'm  with  you,  Gabriel.  To  work!" 

"To  work,  yes,"  put  in  Craig,  "but  with  system,  order 
and  method.  My  experience  in  Congress  has  taught  me 
some  valuable  lessons.  The  universal,  all-embracing 
Trust  made  marionettes  of  us,  every  one.  Our  strength 
was,  to  them,  no  more  than  that  of  a  mouse  to  a  lion. 
Their  system  is  perfect,  their  lines  of  supply  and  com 
munication  are  without  a  flaw.  The  Prussian  army  ma 
chine  of  other  days  was  but  a  bungling  experiment  by 
comparison  with  the  efficiency  of  this  new  mechanism.  I 
tell  you,  Gabriel,  we've  got  to  give  these  tyrants  credit 
for  being  infernally  efficient  tyrants !  All  that  science  has 


262  THE     AIR     TRUST 

been  able  to  devise,  or  press  and  church  and  university 
teach,  or  political  subservience  make  possible,  is  theirs. 
And  back  of  that,  military  power,  and  the  courts  and  the 
prisons  and  the  electric  chair !  And  back  of  all  those,  the 
power  to  choke  the  whole  world  to  submission,  in  a 
week!" 

Gabriel  thought,  a  moment,  before  replying.  Then 
said  he : 

"I  know  it,  Craig.  All  the  more  reason  why  we 
must  hit  them  at  once,  and  hit  hard!  These  reports 
here,"  and  he  gestured  at  the  papers  that  Brevard  had 
spread  out  under  the  lamp-light,  "prove  that,  at  the  proper 
signal,  every  chance  indicates  that  we  can  paralyze  trans 
portation — the  keynote  of  the  whole  situation. 

"True,  the  government — that  is  to  say,  the  Air  Trust, 
and  that  is  to  say,  Flint  and  Waldron — can  keep  men  in 
every  engine-cab  in  the  country.  They  can  keep  them 
at  every  switch  and  junction.  But  this  isn't  France,  re 
member,  nor  is  it  any  small,  compact  European  country. 
Conditions  are  wholly  different  here.  Everywhere,  vast 
stretches  of  track  exist.  No  power  on  earth — not  even 
Flint  and  Waldron's — can  guard  all  those  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  miles.  And  so  I  tell  you,  taking  our  data 
simply  from  these  reports  and  not  counting  on  any  more 
organized  strength  than  they  show,  we  have  to-day  got 
the  means  of  cutting  and  crippling,  for  a  week  at  least, 
the  movements  of  troops  to  Niagara.  And  that,  just 
that,  is  all  we  need !" 

A  little  silence.    Then  said  Catherine : 

"You  mean,  Gabriel,  that  if  we  can  keep  the  troops 
back  for  a  little  while,  and  annihilate  the  Air  Trust  plant 
itself,  the  great  revolution  will  follow?" 


"APRES  NOUS  LE  DELUGE"  263 

He  nodded,  with  a  smouldering  fire  in  his  eyes. 

"Yes,"  said  he.  "If  we  can  loosen  the  grip  of  this 
monster  for  only  forty-eight  hours,  and  flash  the  new? 
to  this  bleeding,  sweating,  choking  land  that  the  grip  iV 
loosened — after  that  we  need  do  no  more.  Apres  nous. 
le  deluge;  only  not  now  in  the  sense  of  wreck  and  ruin, 
but  meaning  that  this  deluge  shall  forever  wash  away  the 
tyranny  and  crime  of  Capitalism !  Forever  and  a  day, 
to  leave  us  free  once  more,  free  men  and  women,  stand 
ing  erect  and  facing  God's  own  sunlight,  our  heritage  and 
birthplace  in  this  world !" 

Catherine  made  no  answer,  but  her  hand  clasped  his. 
The  light  on  her  magnificent  masses  of  copper-golden 
hair,  braided  about  her  head,  enhanced  her  beauty.  And 
so  for  a  moment,  the  little  group  sat  there  about  the  table 
— the  group  on  which  now  so  infinitely  much  depended ; 
and  the  lamp-glow  shone  upon  their  precious  plans,  re 
ports  and  diagrams. 

Into  each  others'  eyes  they  looked,  and  knew  the  mo 
ment  of  final  conflict  was  drawn  very  near,  at  last.  The 
moment  which,  in  failure  or  success,  should  for  long 
years,  for  decades,  for  centuries  perhaps,  determine 
whether  the  world  and  all  its  teeming  millions  were  to 
be  slave  or  free. 

They  spoke  no  word  and  took  no  oath  of  life-and-death 
fidelity,  those  men  and  women  who  now  had  been  en 
trusted  with  the  fate  of  the  world.  But  in  their  eyes  cne 
read  unshakable  devotion  to  the  Cause  of  Man,  un 
swerving  loyalty  to  the  Great  Ideal,  and  a  calm,  holy 
faith  that  would  make  light  of  death  itself,  could  death 
but  pave  the  way  to  victory! 


CHAPTER  XXX. 
TRAPPED ! 

REVARD  was  the  first  to  speak.  "Gabriel,"  said  he, 
"we  have  agreed  that  you  must  be  the  leader  in 
this  whole  affair.  The  actual,  personal  leader.  To  begin 
with,  you're  younger  and  physically  stronger  than  any  of 
us  men.  Your  executive  ability  is,  without  any  question 
whatever,  far  and  away  ahead  of  ours — for  we  are  more 
in  the  analytical,  compiling,  organizing,  preparing  line. 
To  cap  all,  your  personality  carries  more,  far  more,  with 
the  mass  of  the  comrades  than  any  of  ours.  Your  career, 
in  the  past,  your  conflict  with  Flint  and  Waldron,  and 
your  long  imprisonment,  have  given  you  the  necessary 
following.  You,  and  you  alone,  must  issue  the  final  call, 
lead  the  last,  supreme  attack,  and  carry  the  old  flag,  the 
Crimson  Banner  of  Brotherhood,  to  the  topmost  battle 
ment  of  an  annihilated  Capitalism !" 

Gabriel  demurred,  but  they  overruled  him.  So,  pres 
ently,  he  consented ;  and  pledged  his  life  to  it ;  and  thrilled 
with  pride  and  joy  at  thought  of  what  now  lay  written  in 
the  Book  of  Fate,  for  him  to  read. 

Catherine's  eyes  shone  with  a  strange  light,  as  she 
looked  upon  him  there,  so  modest  yet  so  strong.  And  he, 
smiling  a  little  as  his  gaze  met  hers,  foresaw  other  things 
than  war,  and  was  glad.  His  heart  sang  within  him, 
that  memorable  and  wondrous  night,  up  there  in  the 
hiding-place  among  the  Great  Smokies — there  with  Cath- 


TRAPPED  265 

erine  and  the  other  comrades — there  planning  the  last 
great  blow  to  strike  away  forever  the  shackles  from  the 
bleeding  limbs  of  all  the  human  race ! 

But  serious  and  urgent  things  were  to  be  thought  of, 
and  at  once,  for  on  the  morrow  Brevard  was  going  down, 
disguised,  to  Louisville,  in  one  of  the  two  monoplanes,  to 
attend  a  final  secret  meeting  of  the  North-middle  Section 
Committee.  From  this  he  would  proceed  to  the  refuge 
near  Port  Colborne,  Ontario. 

"Let  us  make  that  our  meeting-place,  one  week  from 
tonight/'  said  Gabriel,  "in  case  anything  happens.  Should 
we  be  detected,  or  should  any  accident  befall,  we  must 
have  some  time  and  place  to  rally  by.  Is  my  suggestion 
taken?" 

They  all  agreed,  after  some  discussion. 

"But,"  added  Mrs.  Grantham,  "let's  hope  we're  still 
secure  here,  for  a  while.  It  doesn't  seem  possible  they 
could  find  us  here,  in  this  broad  mountain  wilderness!" 

Brevard,  meanwhile,  was  spreading  out  diagrams  and 
plans. 

"The  plant  at  Niagara,"  said  he.  "Gabriel,  study  this, 
now,  as  you  never  yet  have  studied  anything!  For  on 
your  intimate  knowledge  of  these  plans — which,  by  the 
way,  have  been  obtained  only  at  the  cost  of  eight  lives 
of  our  comrades,  and  through  adventures  which  alone 
would  make  a  wonderful  book — depends  everything. 
With  all  communications  cut,  and  troops  kept  away,  and 
our  own  people  storming  the  works,  you  will  yet  fail, 
Gabriel,  unless  you  know  every  building,  every  courtyard, 
wall  and  passage,  every  door  and  window,  almost,  I  might 
say.  For  the  place  is  more  than  a  manufacturing  plant. 


266  THE     AIR     TRUST 

It's  a  fortress,  a  city  in  itself,  a  wonderful,  gigantic  cen 
ter  to  the  whole  web  of  world-domination ! 

"So  now,  to  the  plans!" 

For  hours,  while  Gabriel  took  notes  and  listened  keenly, 
asked  questions  and  made  minute  memoranda,  Brevard 
explained  the  situation  at  the  great  Air  Trust  works.  The 
others  looked  on,  listened,  and  from  time  to  time  made 
suggestions;  but  for  the  most  part  they  kept  silent,  un 
willing  to  disturb  this  most  important  work. 

Carefully  and  with  painstaking  accuracy  he  showed 
Gabriel  how  the  plant  now  embraced  more  than  two 
square  miles  of  territory  around  the  Falls,  all  guarded  by 
tremendous  barricades  mounting  machine-guns  and 
searchlights.  On  both  sides  of  the  river  this  huge  mon 
ster  had  squatted,  effectually  shutting  out  all  sight  of  the 
Falls  and  depriving  the  people  of  their  birthright  of 
beauty,  at  the  same  time  that  it  had  harnessed  the  vast 
waterpower  to  the  task  of  enslaving  the  world. 

"From  the  Grand  Trunk  steel  arch  bridge  up  to  and 
including  the  former  plant  of  the  Niagara  Falls  Power 
Company,"  said  Brevard,  "you  see  the  plant  extends. 
And,  on  the  Canadian  side — or  what  was  the  Canadian, 
before  'we*  absorbed  Canada — it  stretches  from  the  On 
tario  Power  Company's  works  to  those  of  the  Toronto- 
Niagara  Power  Company,  including  both.  In  addition  to 
having  absorbed  these,  it  has  taken  over  the  Niagara 
Falls  Hydraulic  Power  and  Manufacturing  Company,  the 
Canadian  Power  Company  and  half  a  dozen  others,  and 
has,  as  you  see,  established  its  central  offices  and  plant 
on  Goat  Island. 

"Here  Flint  and  Waldron  have  what  may  be  called  a 
citadel  within  a  citadel — twelve  acres  of  administration 


TRAPPED  267 

buildings,  laboratories  (in  charge  of  your  old  friend  Her- 
zog,  by  the  way!)  and  experimental  works,  including  also 
the  big  steel  chambers,  vacuum-lined,  where  they  are 
already  storing  their  liquid  oxygen  to  be  turned  into  their 
pipe-lines  and  tank-cars.  This  Goat  'Island  central  plant 
will  be  the  real  kernel  in  the  nut,  Gabriel.  Once  that 
is  gone,  you'll  have  ripped  the  heart  out  of  the  beast, 
smashed  the  vital  ganglia,  and  given  the  world  the  res- 
spite,  the  breathing-space  it  must  have,  to  free  itself !" 

"And  if  I  don't?"  asked  Gabriel.  "If  anything  hap 
pens  to  upset  our  blockading  tactics,  or  if  our  attacking 
forces  are  defeated  or  our  aeroplanes  shot  down,  what 
then?" 

"Then,"  said  Brevard,  slowly,  "then  the  world  had 
better  die  than  survive  under  the  abominable  slavery  now 
impending.  Already  the  pipe-lines  have  been  laid  to  Buf 
falo,  Cleveland,  Albany  and  Scranton.  Already  they're 
under  way  to  New  York  City  itself,  and  to  Cincinnati. 
Already  other  plants  have  been  projected  for  Chicago, 
Denver,  San  Francisco  and  New  Orleans,  to  say  nothing 
of  half  a  dozen  in  the  Old  World.  At  this  present  mo 
ment,  as  we  all  sit  here  in  this  quiet  room  on  this  remote 
mountain-slope,  the  world's  air  is  being  cornered!  All 
the  atmospheric  nitrogen  is  planned  for,  by  Flint  and 
Waldron,  to  pass  under  their  control — and  with  it,  ever)' 
crop  that  grows.  All  the  oxygen  will  follow.  They're 
already  having  their  domestic-service  apparatus  manu 
factured — their  cold-pipe  radiators,  meters,  evaporators 
and  respirators.  I  tell  you,  comrades,  this  thing  is  close 
upon  us,  not  as  a  theory,  now,  but  as  a  terrible,  an  incon 
ceivably  ghastly  reality! 

"Even  as  we  talk  this  thing  over,  those  devils  in  human 


268  THE     AIR     TRUST 

form  are  at  work  impoverishing  the  atmosphere,  the  very 
basis  of  all  life.  My  oxymeter,  today,  showed  a  diminu 
tion  of  .047  per  cent,  in  the  amount  of  free  oxygen  in  the 
air  right  on  this  mountain.  And  their  plant  is  hardly 
running  yet!  Wait  till  they  get  it  under  full  swing — 
wait  till  their  pipe-lines  and  tanks  and  instruments  and 
all  their  vast,  infernal  apparatus  of  exploitation  and  en 
slavement  are  in  operation!  Even  in  a  week  from  now, 
or  less,  by  the  time  you  issue  the  call,  Gabriel,  you  may 
see  wretches  gasping  in  vain  for  breath,  in  some  dark 
alley  of  Niagara  where  the  air  is  being  drained !" 

"Oh,  devilish  and  infernal  plot  against  the  world !"  said 
Gabriel,  bitterly.  "Yet  in  essence,  after  all,  no  different 
from  the  system  of  ten  years  ago,  which  kept  food  and 
shelter,  light  and  fuel,  under  lock  and  key — and  made 
the  dollar  the  only  key  to  fit  the  lock!  Yet  this  seems 
worse,  somehow;  and  though  I  die  for  it,  my  last  su 
preme  blow  shall  be  against  such  unutterable,  such  mur 
derous  villainy!  So  then,  comrades " 

He  paused,  suddenly,  as  Kate  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm. 

"Hark!       What's  that?"  she  whispered. 

Outside,  somewhere,  a  sound  had  made  itself  heard. 
Then  on  the  porch,  a  loose  board  creaked. 

Gabriel  sprang  to  his  feet.  The  others  stood  up  and 
faced  the  door. 

"In  heaven's  name,  what's  that  outside?"  demanded 
Craig. 

On  the  instant,  a  heavy  foot  crashed  through  the  pan 
els  of  their  door.  The  door,  burst  open,  flew  back. 

In  the  aperture  stood  a  man,  in  aviator's  dress,  with 
another  dimly  visible  behind  him.  Both  these  men  held 


TRAPPED  269 

long,  blue-nosed,  oxygen-bullet-shooting  revolvers  levelled 
at  the  little  group  around  the  table. 

"My  God !  Air  Trust  spies !"  cried  Grantham,  pale  as 
death. 

"Hands  up,  you!"  shouted  the  man  in  the  doorway, 
with  a  wild  triumph  in  his  voice.  "You're  caught,  all  of 
you!  Not  a  move,  you !  Hands  up!" 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

ESCAPE ! 

QUICK  as  thought,  at  sound  of  the  imperative  sum 
mons  and  sight  of  the  levelled  weapons,  Gabriel 
swept  up  most  of  the  papers  and  crammed  them  into  the 
breast  of  his  loose  flannel  shirt,  then  dashed  the  lamp  to 
the  floor,  extinguishing  it.  The  room  grew  dark,  for  now 
the  fire  had  burned  down  to  hardly  more  than  glowing 
coals. 

There  was  no  panic ;  the  men  did  not  curse,  neither  did 
the  women  scream.  As  though  the  tactic  had  already 
been  agreed  on,  Craig  tipped  the  table  up,  making  a  kind 
of  barricade;  and  over  it  Grantham's  revolver,  snatched 
from  his  belt,  spat  viciously. 

It  all  happened  in  a  moment. 

The  foremost  spy  grunted,  coughed  and  plunged  for 
ward.  As  he  fell,  he  fired  his  terrible  weapon. 

The  bullet — a  small,  thin  metal  shell,  filled  with  a  secret 
chemical  and  liquid  oxygen — went  wild.  It  struck  the 
wall,  some  feet  to  the  left  of  the  fireplace,  and  instantly 
the  wood  burst  into  vivid  flame.  Flesh  would  crisp  to 
nothing,  solid  stone  would  crumble,  metal  would  gutter 
and  run  down,  under  that  awful  incandescence. 

Again  Grantham's  revolver  barked,  while  Bevard 
tugged  at  his  own,  which  had  unaccountably  got  stuck 
in"  its  holster.  But  this  second  shot  missed.  And  even 


ESCAPE  271 

as  Grantham's  bullet  snicked  a  long  splinter  from  the 
door- jamb,  the  second  spy  fired. 

Brevard's  choking  cry  died  as  the  gushing  flame  en 
veloped  him.  He  staggered,  flung  up  both  arms  and  fell 
stone  dead,  the  life  seared  clean  out  of  him,  as  a  lamp 
sears  a  moth. 

Gasping,  blinded,  the  others  scattered ;  and  for  the  third 
time — while  the  room  now  glowed  with  this  unquench 
able  blossoming  of  flame — Grantham  shot. 

The  spy's  body  burst  into  a  sheaf  of  fire.  Up  past  the 
lintel  streamed  the  burning  swirl.  Mute  and  annihilated, 
his  charred  body  dropped  beside  that  of  his  mate. 

The  total  time  from  challenge  to  complete  victory  had 
not  exceeded  ten  seconds. 

•''I  exploded  some  of  his  cartridges !"  choked  Grantham. 
shielding  his  wife  from  the  glare,  while  Gabriel  protected 
Catherine. 

"His — his  cartridge  belt!''  gasped  Craig. 

"Yes!    And  now,  out — out  of  here!" 

"Brevard?  We  must  save  his  body!"  cried  Gabriel, 
pointing. 

"Impossible!"  shouted  Grantham.  "That  hellish  com 
pound  will  burn  for  hours!  And  in  three  minutes  this 
whole  place  will  be  a  roaring  furnace!  Out  of  here — 
out — away!  We  must  save  the  hangar,  at  all  hazards!" 

Against  their  will,  but  absolutely  unable  to  approach 
the  now  wildly-roaring  fire  on  the  floor  that  marked  the 
spot  where  Brevard  had  fallen  in  the  Battle  with  Pluto 
cracy,  the  comrades  quickly  retreated. 

Raging  fire  now  hemmed  them  on  three  sides.  Their 
only  avenue  of  escape  was  through  the  eastern  windows, 
eight  or  ten  feet  above  the  ground.  Hastily  snatching  up 


272  THE     AIR     TRUST 

such  of  the  plans  and  papers  as  he  had  not  already  se 
cured — and  some  of  these  already  were  beginning  to 
smoke  and  turn  brown,  in  the  infernal  heat — Gabriel 
shielded  Catherine's  retreat.  The  others  followed. 

Craig  and  Grantham  first  jumped  from  the  windows, 
then  caught  Mrs.  Grantham  and  Catherine  as  Gabriel 
helped  them  to  escape.  He  himself  was  the  last  to  leave 
the  room,  now  a  raging  furnace.  Together  they  all  ran 
from  the  building,  and  none  too  soon;  for  suddenly  the 
roof  collapsed,  a  tremendous  burst  of  crackling  flames  and 
sheaved  sparks  leaped  high  above  the  tree-tops,  and  the 
walls  came  crashing  in. 

In  the  welter  of  incandescence,  where  now  only  the 
stone  chimney  stood — and  this,  too,  was  already  cracking 
and  swaying — Brevard  had  found  his  tomb,  together  with 
the  two  Air  Trust  ^pies.  All  that  pleasant,  necessary 
place  was  now  a  mass  of  white-hot  ruin;  all  those  books 
and  pictures  now  had  turned  to  ash. 

The  five  remaniing  comrades  paused  by  the  hangar,  and 
looked  mournfully  back  at  the  still-leaping  volcano  of  de 
struction. 

"Poor  Brevard!  Poor  old  chap!"  said  Craig.  He 
peered  at  the  women.  Neither  one  was  crying — they  were 
not  that  type — but  both  were  pale. 

"I  don't  feel  that  way,"  said  Gabriel.  "Brevard  is  not 
to  be  pitied.  He's  to  be  envied !  He  died  in  the  noblest 
war  we  can  conceive — the  war  for  the  human  race! 
And  his  last  act  was  to  take  part  in  a  battle  that  stamped 
out  two  vipers,  Air  Trust  spies,  who  would  have  joyed 
to  burn  us  all  alive!" 

"Thank  God,  I  got  the  Hell-hounds!"  muttered  Craig. 
"Two  less  of  Slade's  infamous  army,  anyhow."  Though 


The  spy's   body  burst   into   a  sheaf  of  fire. 


ESCAPE  273 

Gabriel  knew  it  not,  the  first  one  to  fall  was  the  same 
who  had  battled  with  him  in  the  trap  at  Rochester,  the 
same  who  had  trailed  him  when  he,  Gabriel,  had  left  the 
Federal  pen.  So  one  score,  at  least,  was  settled. 

"They're  gone,  anyhow,"  said  Gabriel,  "and  five  of  us 
still  live — and  I've  still  got  the  plans  and  all.  Moreover, 
the^  monoplanes  are  safe.  The  quicker  we  get  away  from 
here,  now,  the  better.  Away,  and  to  our  last  remaining 
refuge  near  Port  Colborne,  on  the  shores  of  Lake  Erie. 
Other  Air  Trust  forces  may  be  here,  before  morning.  We 
must  get  away!" 

A  frightful  shock  awaited  them  when,  entering  the 
hangar — eager  now  to  escape  at  once  from  the  scene  of 
the  tragedy — they  beheld  their  aeroplanes. 

By  the  ruddy  light  which  shone  in  through  the  wide 
doors,  from  the  fire,  they  saw  long  strips  and  tatters  of 
canvas  hanging  from  the  'planes. 

"Smashed !  Broken !  Wrecked !"  cried  Gabriel,  start 
ing  back  aghast. 

The  others  stared.  Only  too  true;  the  monoplanes 
were  practically  destroyed.  Not  only  had  the  spies,  be 
fore  attacking  the  refuge,  slashed  the  'planes  to  rags,  but 
they  had  also  partly  dismantled  the  motors.  Bits  of  ma 
chinery  lay  scattered  on  the  floor  of  the  hangar. 

Stunned  and  unable  to  gather  speech  or  coherent 
thought,  the  five  Socialists  stood  staring.  Then,  after  a 
moment,  Craig  made  shift  to  exclaim  bitterly : 

"A  good  job,  all  right!  The  curs  must  have  got  in  at 
the  window,  and  spent  an  hour  in  this  work.  Whatever 
happened,  they  didn't  intend  we  should  have  any  means 
of  retreat — for  of  course  it's  out  of  the  question  for  any- 


274  THE     AIR     TRUST 

body  to  get  away  from  here  through  the  forest  over  the 
ridges  and  down  the  cliffs!" 

"They  meant  to  trap  us,  this  way,  that's  certain,"  added 
Gabriel.  "There  surely  will  be  others  of  the  same  breed, 
here  before  morning.  They  must  not  find  us  here!" 

"But  Gabriel,  how  shall  we  escape?"  asked  Catherine, 
her  face  illumined  by  the  leaping  flames  of  the  bungalow. 

"How!  In  their  own  machine!  The  machine  that 
Slade  and  the  Air  Trust  secret-service  gave  them,  to  come 
here  and  catch  or  murder  us !" 

"By  the  Almighty!  So  we  will!"  cried  Grantham. 
"Come  on,  let's  find  it!" 

The  little  party  hurried  off  toward  the  landing-ground, 
a  cleared  and  levelled  space  further  up  the  mountainside. 
The  light  of  the  burning  bungalow  helped  show  them 
their  path;  and  Craig  had  also  taken  an  electric  flash- 
lamp  from  the  hangar.  With  this  he  led  the  way. 

"Right!  There  it  is!"  suddenly  exclaimed  Gabriel, 
pointing.  Craig  painted  a  brush  of  electric  light  over  the 
vague  outlines  of  the  Air  Trust  machine,  a  steel  racer  of 
the  latest  kind. 

"A  Floriot  biplane,"  said  he.  "Will  hold  two  and  a 
passenger.  Familiar  type.  I  guess  all  of  us,  here,  can 
operate  it." 

They  all — even  the  women- — could.  For  you  must  un 
derstand  that  after  the  Great  Massacres  had  foreshown 
the  only  possible  trend  the  Movement  could  take,  prac 
tically  all  the  leaders  in  the  work  had  studied  aeronautics, 
also  chemistry,  as  most  essential  branches  of  knowledge 
in  the  inevitable  war. 

"Two,  and  a  passenger,"  repeated  Gabriel,  as  though 
echoing  Craig's  words.  "Who  goes  first?" 


ESCAPE  275 

"You!"  said  Grantham.  "You  and  Catherine,  with 
Craig  to  bring  the  machine  back.  You're  needed,  now, 
at  the  front — imperatively  needed.  Freda  and  I,"  ges 
turing  at  his  wife,  "will  hold  the  fort,  here — will  keep 
watch  over  our  dead,  over  poor  old  Brevard,  the  first  to 
fall  in  this  great,  final  battle!" 

A  spirited  argument  followed.  Gabriel  insisted  on  be 
ing  left  for  the  second  trip.  A  compromise  was  made  by 
having  him  get  the  two  women  out  of  danger,  at  once, 
leaving  Craig  and  Grantham  on  the  mountain. 

"I'll  send  Hazen  or  Keyes  back  with  the  'plane,  for 
you,"  said  he,  as  he  climbed  into  the  driving  seat,  after 
the  passengers  had  been  stowed.  "That  will  be  tomorrow 
night.  Of  course,  we  daren't  fly  by  day.  And  mind,"  he 
added,  adjusting  his  spark  and  throttle,  "mind  you  meet 
me  with  this  very  same  machine,  safe  and  sound,  at  the 
Lake  Erie  refuge!" 

"Why  this  same  machine?"  inquired  Craig. 

"Why?  Because  I  intend  to  use  this,  and  no  other,  in 
the  final  attack.  Could  poetic  justice  be  finer  than  that 
the  Air  Trust  works  be  destroyed  with  the  help  of  one  of 
their  own  'planes?" 

No  more  was  said,  save  brief  good-byes.  Those  were 
times  when  demonstrativeness,  whether  in  life  or  death, 
was  at  a  discount.  A  hand-clasp  and  a  few  last  instruc 
tions  as  to  the  time  and  place  of  meeting,  sufficed.  Then 
Gabriel  pressed  the  button  of  the  self-starter  and  opened 
the  throttle. 

With  a  sudden  gusty  chatter,  the  engine  caught.  A 
great  wind  sprang  up,  from  the  roaring,  whirling  blades. 
The  Floriot  rolled  easily  forward,  speeded  up,  and  gath 
ered  headway. 


276  THE    AIR     TRUST 

Gabriel  suddenly  rotated  the  rising-plane.  The  great 
gull  soared,  careened  and  took  the  air  with  majestic 
power.  The  watchers  on  the  mountain-side  saw  its  hooded 
lights,  that  glowed  upon  its  compass  and  barometric- 
gauge,  slowly  spiralling  upward,  ever  upward,  as  Gabriel 
climbed  with  his  two  passengers. 

Then  the  lights  sped  forward,  northward,  in  a  long 
tangent,  and,  as  they  swiftly  diminished  to  mere  specks, 
the  echo  of  a  farewell  hail  drifted  downward  from  the 
black  and  star-dusted  emptiness  above. 

Craig  turned  to  Grantham,  when  the  last  gleam  of  light 
had  faded  in  a  swift  trajectory. 

"God  grant  they  reach  the  last  remaining  refuge  safe 
ly!"  said  he,  with  deep  emotion.  "And  may  their  flight 
be  quick  and  sure!  For  the  fate  of  the  world,  its  hope 
and  its  salvation  from  infinite  enslavement,  are  whirling 
through  the  trackless  wastes  of  air,  to-night!" 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 
OMINOUS  DEVELOPMENTS. 

HE  first  intimation  that  Flint  and  Waldron  had  of 
any  opposition  to  their  plans,  of  any  revolt,  of  any 
danger,  was  at  quarter  past  three  on  the  afternoon  of 
October  8th,  1925.  All  that  afternoon,  busy  with  their 
final  plans  for  the  immediate  extension  of  their  system, 
they  had  been  going  over  certain  data  with  Herzog,  re 
ceiving  reports  from  branch  managers  and  conferring  with 
the  Congressional  committee  that — together  with  Dillon 
Slade,  their  secret-service  tool,  now  also  President  Sup- 
ple's  private  secretary — they  had  peremptorily  summoned 
from  Washington  to  receive  instructions. 

In  the  more  than  four  years  that  had  passed  since  they 
had  put  Gabriel  behind  bars — years  fruitful  in  strikes  and 
lockouts,  in  prostitutions  of  justice,  in  sluggings  and 
crude  massacres — both  men  had  altered  notably. 

Though  the  National  Censorship  now  no  longer  per 
mitted  any  cartooning  of  a  "seditious"  nature,  i.  e.,  rep 
resenting  any  of  the  Air  Trust  notables,  old  Flint's  fea 
tures  tempted  the  artist's  pencil  more  than  ever.  Save 
for  a  little  white  fringe  of  hair  at  the' back  of  his  head, 
he  had  become  almost  bald,  thus  adding  greatly  to  his 
strong  suggestion  of  a  vulture.  His  face  was  now  more 
yellow  and  shrunken  than  ever,  due  to  a  rather  heavier 
consumption  of  his  favorite  drug,  morphine ;  his  nose  had 
hooked  more  strongly,  and  his  one  gold  tooth  of  other 


278  THE    AIR    TRUST 

days  now  had  two  more  to  bear  it  company.  His  eyes,  too, 
behind  his  thick  pince-nez,  had  grown  more  shifty,  cold 
and  cruelly  calculating.  If  it  be  possible  to  conceive  a 
fox,  a  buzzard  and  a  jackal  merged  in  one,  old  Isaac 
Flint  today  represented  that  unnatural  and  hideous  hybrid. 

Now,  as  he  stood  facing  ' Tiger"  Waldron,  in  the  inner 
and  sancrosanct  office  of  the  Air  Trust  plant  at  Niagara 
— the  office  that  even  the  President  of  these  United  States 
approached  with  deference  and  due  humility — the  snarl 
on  his  face  revealed  the  beast-soul  of  the  man. 

"Damnation !"  he  was  saying,  as  he  shook  a  newly-re 
ceived  aerogram  at  his  partner.  "What's  this,  I'd  like  to 
know  ?  What  does  this  mean  ?  All  telegraphic  communi 
cation  west  of  Chicago  has  suddenly  stopped,  and  from 
half  a  dozen  points  in  the  Southern  States  news  is  coming 
in  that  railway  service  is  being  interrupted!  See  here, 
Waldron,  this  won't  do!  Your  part  of  the  business  has 
always  been  to  carry  on  the  publicity  end,  the  newspaper 
end,  the  moulding  of  public  opinion  and  political  thought, 
and  the  maintenance  of  free,  clear  rail  and  aero  commu- 
cation  everywhere,  all  over  the  world.  But  now,  all  at 
once,  see  here?" 

Waldron  raised  red,  bleared  eyes  at  his  irate  partner. 
He,  too,  was  more  the  beast  than  four  years  ago.  No  less 
the  tiger,  now,  but  more  the  pig.  High,  evil  living  had 
done  its  work  on  him.  An  unhealthy  purple  suffused  his 
heavily- jow led  face.  Beneath  his  eyes,  sodden  bags  of 
flesh  hung  pendant.  His  lips,  loose  and  lascivious,  now 
sucked  indolently  at  the  costly  cigar  he  was  smoking  as 
he  sat  leaning  far  back  in  his  desk-chair.  And  so  those 
two,  angry  accuser  and  indifferent  accused,  faced  each 
other  for  a  moment;  while,  incessant,  dull,  mighty,  the 


OMINOUS    DEVELOPMENTS  279 

thunders  of  the  giant  cataract  mingled  with  the  trembling 
diapason  of  the  stupendous  turbines  in  the  rock-hewn  cav 
erns  where  old  Niagara  now  toiled  in  fetters,  to  swell 
their  power  and  fling  gold  into  their  bottomless  coffers. 

"See  here!"  Flint  repeated  angrily,  once  more  shaking 
the  dispatches  at  his  mate.  "Even  our  wireless  system, 
all  over  the  west  and  southwest,  has  quit  working!  And 
you  sit  there  staring  at  me  like — like " 

"That'll  do,  Flint!"  the  younger  man  retorted  in  a 
rough,  hoarse  voice.  "If  there's  any  trouble,  I'll  find  it 
and  repair  it.  Very  well.  But  I'll  not  be  talked  to  in 
any  such  way.  Damn  it,  you  can't  speak  to  me  Flint,  as 
if  I  were  one  of  the  people!  If  you  own  half  the  earth, 
I'll  have  you  understand  I  own  the  other  half.  So  go 
easy,  Flint — go  damned  easy!"  . 

Malevolently  he  eyed  the  old  man's  beast-like  face.  The 
scorn  and  dislike  he  had  conceived  for  Flint,  years  ago, 
when  Flint  had  failed  to  win  back  Catherine  to  him,  had 
long  grown  keener  and  more  bitter.  Waldron  took  it  as 
a  personal  affront  that  Flint,  apparently  so  worn  and 
feeble,  could  still  hang  on  to  life  and  brains  enough  to 
dominate  the  enterprise.  A  thousand  times,  if  once,  he 
had  wished  Flint  well  dead  and  buried  and  out  of  the 
way,  so  that  he,  Waldron,  could  grasp  the  whole  circle  of 
the  stupendous  Air  Trust.  This,  his  supreme  ambition, 
had  been  constantly  curbed  by  Flint's  survival ;  and  as  the 
months  and  years  had  passed,  his  hate  had  grown  more 
deep,  more  ugly,  more  venomous. 

"Why,  curse  it,"  Waldron  often  thought,  "the  old  dope 
has  taken  enough  morphine  in  his  lifetime  to  have  killed 
a  hundred  ordinary  men !  And  yet  he  still  clings  on,  and 
withers,  and  grows  yellow  like  an  old  dead  leaf  that  will 


280  THE     AIR     TRUST 

not  drop  from  the  tree !  When  will  he  drop  ?  When  will 
Father  Time  pick  the  despicable  antique?  My  God,  is 
the  man  immortal?'* 

Such  being  the  usual  tenor  of  his  thoughts,  concerning 
Flint,  small  wonder  that  he  took  the  old  man's  chiding 
with  an  ill  grace,  and  warned  him  pointedly  not  to  con 
tinue  it.  Now,  facing  the  Billionaire,  he  fairly  stared 
him  out  of  contenance.  An  awkward  silence  followed. 
Both  heard,  with  relief,  a  rapping  at  the  office  door. 

"Come!"  snapped  Flint. 

A  clerk  appeared,  with  a  yellow  envelope  in  hand. 

"Another  wireless,  sir,"  said  he. 

Flint  snatched  it  from  him. 

"Send  Herzog  and  Slade,  at  once,"  he  commanded,  as 
h'e  ripped  the  envelope. 

"Well,  more  trouble?  "  insolently  drawled  "Tiger," 
happy  in  the  paling  of  the  old  man's  face  and  the  sudden 
look  of  apprehension  there. 

For  all  answer,  Flint  handed  him  the  message.  Wal- 
dron  read : 

Southern  and  Gulf  States  all  seemingly  cut  off 
from  every  kind  of  communication  this  P.  M.  Can 
get  no  news.  Is  this  according  to  your  orders?  If 
not,  can  you  inform  me  probable  cause?  I  ask  in 
structions.  "K" 

Silence,  a  minute,  then  Waldron  whistled,  and  began 
pulling  at  his  thick  lower  lip,  a  sure  sign  of  perturbation. 

"By  the  Almighty,  Flint"  said  he.  "I— maybe  I  was 
wrong  just  now,  to  be  so  confoundedly  touchy  about — 
about  what  you  said.  This — certainly  looks  odd,  doesn't 


OMINOUS    DEVELOPMENTS  281 

it?  It  can't  be  a  series  of  coincidences!  There  must  be 
something  back  of  it,  all.  But — but  what?  Rebellion  is 
out  of  the  question,  now,  and  has  been  for  a  long  time. 
Revolution?  The  way  we're  organized,  the  very  idea's 
an  absurdity!  But,  if  not  these,  what?" 

Flint  stared  at  him  with  drug-contracted  eyes. 

"Yes,  that's  the  question,"  he  rapped  out.  "What  can 
it  mean?  Ah,  perhaps  Slade  can  tell  us,"  he  added,  as 
the  secret-service  man  quietly  entered  through  a  private 
door  at  the  rear  of  the  office. 

"Tell  you  what,  gentlemen?"  asked  Slade,  smirking 
and  rubbing  his  hands. 

"The  meaning  of  that,  and  that,  and  that!"  snapped  old 
Flint,  thrusting  the  telegrams  at  the  newcomer. 

"Hm!"  grunted  the  secret-service  man,  as  he  glanced 
them  over.  "That's  damned  odd!  But  it's  of  no  real 
moment.  If — if  there's  really  any  trouble,  any  outbreak 
or  what  not,  of  course  it  can't  amount  to  anything.  All 
you  have  to  do  is  order  the  President  to  call  out  the 
troops,  and " 

"Yes,  I  can  order  him,  all  right,"  snarled  Flint,  "but 
in  case  all  our  wires  are  down  and  all  our  wrireless  plants 
put  out  of  commission,  to  say  nothing  of  our  transport 
service  interrupted,  what  then?  There's  no  doubt  in  my 
mind,  Slade,  that  another  upheaval  is  upon  us.  The  fact 
that  we  stamped  out  the  1918  and  1922  uprisings,  and 
that  rivers  ran  red  and  city  streets  were  flushed  with 
blood,  apparently  hasn't  made  any  impression  on  the  cat 
tle!  Damn  it  all,  I  say,  can't  you  keep  things  quiet? 
Can't  you?" 

In  a  very  frenzy  he  paced  the  office,  his  face  twitching, 


282  THE    AIR     TRUST 

his  bony  fingers  snapping  with  the  extremity  of  his  agi 
tation.    Suddenly  he  faced  Slade. 

"See  here,  you!"  he  exclaimed.  "This  certainly  means 
another  uprising.  It  can't  mean  anything  else!  And 
you've  allowed  it,  you  hear?  No,  no,  don't  deny  the 
fact !"  he  cried,  as  the  detective  tried  to  oppose  a  word  of 
self-defense.  "It's  your  fault,  at  last  analysis ;  and  if  any 
thing  happens,  you  and  the  President,  Supple,  have  got  to 
answer  to  me,  personally,  do  you,  hear?  You've  got  to 
pay!" 

"Pay,  and  with  devilish  big  interest,  too!"  growled 
"Tiger,"  fixing  his  bleared,  savage  eyes  on  Slade. 

"What  did  I  make  that  man  President  for,  anyhow?" 
snarled  Flint,  "if  not  to  do  my  bidding  and  keep  things 
still?  Why  did  I  put  you  in  as  his  private  secretary,  if 
not  to  have  you  watch  him  and  see  that  he  did  do  my 
bidding?  Why  did  I  have  Congress  pass  all  those  bills 
and  things,  except  to  give  you  the  weapons  and  tools  to 
hold  the  lid  on? 

"You've  had  a  huge  army  and  a  conscripted  militia 
given  you ;  and  hundreds  of  wireless  plants,  and  military 
roads  and  war-equipment  beyond  all  calculating.  You've 
had  thousands  of  spies  organized  and  put  under  your 
control.  At  your  suggestion  I've  had  all  political  power 
taken  away  from  the  dogs — and  everything  done  that 
you've  asked  for — and  this,  this  is  the  kind  of  work 
you  do!" 

Livid  with  rage,  the  old  Billionaire  stood  there  shak 
ing  by  his  desk,  his  face  a  fearful  mask  of  passions  and 
evil  lusts  for  vengeance  and  power.  Slade,  recognizing' 
his  master,  even  as  President  Supple  on  more  than  one 
occasion  had  been  forced  in  terrible  personal  interviews  to 


OMINOUS    DEVELOPMENTS  283 

recognize  him,  said  no  word;  but  in  the  secret-service 
man's  eyes  a  brutal  gleam  liashed  its  message  of  hate  and 
loathing.  Foul  as  Slade  was,  he  balked  at  times,  in  face 
of  this  man's  cruel  and  naked  savagery. 

"I  tell  you,"  continued  Flint,  now  having  recovered 
his  breath,  "1  tell  you,  you're  worse  than  useless,  you 
and  your  President,  ha!  ha! — President  Puppet,  indeed! 
fake  that  great  Smoky  Mountain  clue,  for  instance!  On 
the  rumor  that  the  ring-leaders  of  the  swine  were  up 
there,  somewhere,  in  the  North  Carolina  mountains,  you 
sent  your  two  best  men.  And  what's  the  latest  news? 
What  have  you  to  tell  me?  You  know!  Other  airmen 
of  yours  have  just  reported  that  nothing  can  be  found 
but  ruins  of  the  Socialist  refuge,  there  —  nothing  but 
those,  and  the  half-melted  vanadium  steel  identification- 
tags  of  your  best  scouts!  And  their  machine  is  gone — 
and  with  it,  the  birds  we  wanted!  Then,  close  on  the 
heels  of  this,  all  wires  go  fiat,  all  wireless  breaks  down, 
all  rails  are  interrupted,  and — and  Hell's  to  pay !"  Fair 
in  Slade's  face  he  shook  his  trembling  first. 

"Urrh!  You  devilish,  impotent  faker!  You  four- 
flusher!  You  toy  detective!  You  and  your  President, 
too,  aren't  worth  the  liquid  oxygen  to  blow  you  to 
Hades!  See  here,  Slade,  you  get  out  on  this  job,  now, 
and  do  it  damned  quick,  you  understand,  or  there'll  be 
some  shake-up  in  your  office  and  in  the  White  House, 
too.  When  I  buy  and  pay  for  tools,  I  insist  that  the 
tools  work.  If  they  don't !" 

He  snatched  up  a  pencil  from  the  desk,  broke  it  in 
half  and  threw  the  pieces  on  the  floor. 

"Like  that !"  said  he,  and  stamped  on  them. 

Waldron  nodded  approval. 


284  THE    AIR     TRUST 

"Just  like  that,"  he  echoed,  "and  then  some!" 
"Go,  now!"  Flint  commanded,  pointing  at  the  door. 
"Inside  an  hour,  I  want  some  reports,  and  I  want  them 
to  be  satisfactory.  If  you  and  Supple  can't  get  things 
open  again,  and  start  the  troops  and  machine-guns  before 
then,  look  out!  That's  all  I've  got  to  say.  Now,  go!" 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 
"Now  COMES  THE  HOUR  SUPREME/' 

HARDLY  had  the  secret-service  man  taken  his  leave, 
slinking  away  like  a  whipped  cur,  yet  with  an 
ugly  snarl  that  presaged  evil,  when  Herzog  appeared. 

"Come  here,"  said  Flint,  curtly,  heated  with  his  burst 
of  passion. 

"Yes,  sir,"  the  scientist  replied,  approaching.  "What 
is  it,  sir?" 

Still  shifty  and  cringing  was  he,  in  presence  of  the 
masters;  though  with  the  men  beneath  him,  at  the  vast 
plant — and  now  his  importance  had  grown  till  he  con 
trolled  more  than  eight  thousand — rumor  declared  him 
an  intolerable  tyrant. 

"Tell  me,  Herzog,  what's  the  condition  of  the  plant, 
at  this  present  moment?" 

"Just  how  do  you  mean,  sir?" 

"Suppose  there  were  to  be  trouble,  of  any  kind,  how 
are  we  fixed  for  it?"  How's  the  oxygen  supply,  and — 
and  everything?  Good  God,  man,  unlimber!  You're 
paid  to  know  things  and  tell  'em.  '  Now,  talk." 

Thus  adjured,  Herzog  washed  his  hands  with  imag 
inary  soap  and  in  a  deprecating  voice  began : 

"Trouble,  sir?  What  trouble  could  there  be?  There's 
not  the  faintest  sign  of  any  organization  among  the  men. 
They're  submissive  as  so  many  rabbits,  sir,  and " 

"Damn  you,  shut  up!"  roared  Flint.     "I  didn't  sum- 


286  THE    AIR    TRUST 

mon  you  to  come  up  here  and  give  me  a  lecture  on  labor 
conditions  at  the  works!  The  trouble  I  refer  to  is  pos 
sible  outside  interference.  Maybe  some  kind  of  wild- 
eyed  Socialist  upheaval,  or  attack,  or  what  not.  In  case 
it  comes,  what's  our  condition  ?  Tell  me,  in  a  few  words, 
and  for  God's  sake  keep  to  the  point!  The  way  you 
wander,  and  always  have,  gives  me  the  creeps !" 

Herzog  ventured  nothing  in  reply  to  this  outburst,  save 
a  conciliatory  leer.  Then,  collecting  his  thoughts,  he 
began : 

"Well,  sir,  in  a  general  way,  our  condition  is  perfect. 
We've  got  two  regiments  of  rifle  and  machine  gunmen, 
half  of  them  equipped  with  the  oxygen  bullets.  I  guar 
antee  that  I  could  have  them  away  from  their  benches 
and  machines,  and  on  the  fortifications,  inside  of  fifteen 
minutes.  Slade's  armed  guards,  2,500  or  so,  are  all 
ready,  too. 

"Then,  beside  that,  there  are  eight  'planes  in  the 
hangars,  and  plenty  of  men  to  take  them  up.  If  you 
wish,  sir,  I  can  have  others  brought  in.  The  aerial-bornb 
guns  are  ready.  As  for  the  oxygen  supply,  Tanks  F 
and  L  are  full,  K  is  half  filled,  and  N  and  Q  each  have 
about  6,000  gallons,  making  a  total  of — let's  see,  sir — 
a  total  of  just  about  755,000  gallons." 

"How  protected?  Have  you  got  those  bomb-proof 
overhead  nets  on,  yet?" 

"Not  yet,  sir.  That  is,  not  over  all  the  lines  of  tanks. 
We  ran  short  of  steel  wire,  last  week,  and  have  only  got 
eight  of  the  tanks  under  netting.  But  the  work  is  going 
on  fast,  sir,  and " 

"Rush  it!  At  all  hazards,  get  nets  over  the  rest  of  the 
tanks.  If  anything  happens,  through  this  delay,  remem- 


"COMES  THE  HOUR  SUPREME"         287 

her,  Herzog,  I  shall  hold  you  personally  responsible,  and 
it  will  go  hard  with  you!" 

"Yes,  sir;  thank  you,  sir,"  murmured  the  servile 
wretch.  "Anything  else,  sir?" 

Flint  thought  a  moment,  glaring  at  Herzog  with  angry 
eyes,  then  shook  his  head  in  negation. 

"Very  well,  sir,"  said  Herzog,  withdrawing.  "I'll  go 
to  work  at  once.  By  tomorrow,  everything  will  be  safe, 
I  guarantee." 

He  closed  the  door  softly — as  softly  as  he  had  spoken 
— as  softly  as  he  always  did  everything. 

Flint  glared  at  the  door. 

"The  sneaking  whelp !"  he  murmured.  "He  makes  my 
very  flesh  crawl.  I  wish  to  heaven  he  weren't  so  essential 
to  us;  we'd  let  him  go,  damned  quick!" 

"You  forget,"  put  in  Tiger,  "that  he  knows  too  much 
to  be  let  go,  ever.  No,  he's  a  fixture.  And  now,  dismiss 
him  from  your  mind,  and  let's  go  over  those  telegrams 
and  radiograms  again.  If  there  is  a  new  Socialist  revolt 
under  way — and  I  admit  it  certainly  begins  to  look  like 
it — we've  got  to  understand  the  situation.  Slade  will 
have  some  more  reports  for  us,  in  an  hour  or  so.  Till 
then,  these  must  suffice." 

Flint,  curbing  his  agitation,  sat  down  at  the  big  table 
and  turned  on  the  vacuum-glow  light,  for  the  October 
afternoon  was  foggy — a  fog  that  mingled  with  the  spray 
of  the  vast  Falls  and  hung  heavy  over  the  world — and 
already  daylight  was  beginning  to  fail. 

"Fools!"  he  muttered  to  himself.  "Fools,  to  think 
they  can  rebel  against  us!  Ants  would  have  just  as  much 
show  of  success,  charging  elephants,  as  they  have  against 
the  Air  Trust !  By  tomorrow  they'll  be  wiped  out,  smeared 


288  THE     AIR    TRUST 

out,  shattered  and  annihilated,  whoever  and  wherever 
they  are.  By  tomorrow,  at  the  latest.  Again  I  say,  blind, 
suicidal  fools!" 

"Right  you  are,"  assented  Waldron,  drawing  up  his 
chair.  "They  don't  seem  to  realize,  even  yet,  that  we  own 
the  whole  round  earth  and  all  that  is  in  it.  They  don't 
understand  that  their  rebelling  is  like  a  tribe  of  naked 
savages  going  against  a  modern  army  with  explosive  bul 
lets.  Ah,  well,  let  them  learn,  let  them  learn!  It  takes 
a  whip  to  teach  a  cur.  Let  them  feel  the  lash,  and 
learn!  .  .  ." 

At  this  same  hour,  in  the  last  retreat,  near  Port  Col- 
borne,  in  the  State  of  Ontario — once  a  province  of  Can 
ada — half  a  dozen  grim  and  determined  men  were  gath 
ered  together.  We  already  recognize  Craig,  Grantham 
and  Gabriel.  The  other  three,  like  them,  all  wore  the 
Socialist  button  and  the  little  tab  of  red  ribbon  that 
marked  them  as  members  of  the  Fighting  Sections. 

"Tonight,"  Gabriel  was  saying,  as  he  stood  there  in 
the  gathering  dusk — they  dared  not  show  a  light,  even 
behind  the  drawn  curtains  of  their  refuge  —  "tonight, 
comrades,  the  final  die  is  cast.  Everything  is  ready,  or  as 
nearly  ready  as  we  shall  ever  be  able  to  make  it.  Our 
reports  already  show  that  every  line  of  communication 
has  been  broken  by  one  swift,  sharp  blow.  True,  in  a 
few  hours  all  these  avenues  can  be  opened  up  again.  By 
morning,  the  Niagara  works  will  be  in  receipt  of  mes 
sages;  trains  will  be  running;  the  troop-planes  will  be 
carrying  their  hordes  at  the  command  of  Flint.  By  morn 
ing,  yes.  But  in  the  meantime " 


"COMES  THE  HOUR  SUPREME"          289 

He  spread  his  fingers,  upward,  with  an  expressive  ges 
ture. 

"By  morning,"  Craig  mumbled,  "what  will  there  be  left 
to  protect  ?" 

A  little  silence  followed.  Each  was  busy  with  his  own 
thoughts. 

All  at  once,  one  of  the  three  newcomers  spoke — a  tall, 
light-haired  fellow,  he  seemed,  in  that  dim  light,  with  a 
strong  Southern  accent. 

"Pardon  me  for  asking,  Gabriel,''  said  he,  removing  a 
pipe  from  his  mouth,  "or  for  discussing  details  familiar 
to  you  all.  But,  coming  as  I  have  come  direct  from  the 
New  Orleans  refuge — they  blew  it  up,  last  week,  you 
know — of  course  I  haven't  got  things  as  clearly  in  mind 
yet,  as  you-all  have.  Now,  as  I  understand  it,  while  we 
manoeuvre  over  the  plant,  blow  up  the  barricades  and.  if 
possible,  'get'  the  oxygen-tanks,  our  men  on  the  ground 
will  pour  in  through  the  gaps  and  storm  the  place,  under 
the  command  of  Edward  Hargreaves.  Is  that  the  idea?" 

"Exactly,  Comrade  Marion,"  answered  Gabriel. 
"You've  hit  it  to  a  T." 

Craig  laughed  grimly,  as  he  drew  at  his  pipe. 

"Just  as  we're  going  to  hit  those  big  tanks!"  said  he. 
"It's  tonight  or  never,  comrades.  They're  putting  steel 
nets  over  them,  already.  By  tomorrow  the  whole  place 
will  be  protected  by  huge  grill-work  fully  a  hundred  feet 
above  the  tops  of  the  tanks.  Oh,  they  seem  to  have 
thought  of  everything,  those  plutes!  But  they'll  be  just  a 
shade  too  late,  this  time;  just  a  shade  too  late!" 

Another  silence,  broken  again  by  the  tall  Southerner. 

"Just  let  me  get  this  thing  quite  clear,"  said  he.  "We're 
to  start  at  5  130,  you  say,  walk  past  the  Welland  Canal 


290  THE     AIR     TRUST 

Feeder  out  to  the  Monck  Aviation  Grounds,   and  find 
everything  ready  there?" 

"Correct,"  said  Gabriel.  "All  six  of  us.  That's  our 
part  of  the  program.  Comrades  you  don't  know,  out 
there — comrades  in  the  employ  of  the  Air  Trust  itself — 
will  have  six  machines  ready.  One  of  them  will  be  the 
very  machine  that  they  tried  to  get  us  with,  in  the  Great 
Smokies !  So  you  see,  we're  going  to  use  the  Air  Trust 
equipment,  their  field  and  even  their  own  telenite,  to  put 
them  out  of  business  forever  and  to  free  the  world!" 

"Poetic  justice,  all  right  enough!"  laughed  Marion. 
"At  the  same  time  that  we're  attacking  from  an  eleva 
tion  of  perhaps  three  thousand  feet,  the  lateral  attack  will 
be  delivered.  About  how  many  men  do  you  count,  on, 
for  that?" 

"Well,"  judged  Gabriel,  "within  a  ten-mile  radius  of 
the  plant,  at  least  a  hundred  thousand  men  are  waiting, 
this  very  instant,  with  every  nerve  keyed  up  to  fighting 
tension.  Scattered  in  a  vast  variety  of  ingenious  and 
cleverly-devised  hiding  places,  with  their  chlorine  gren 
ades  and  their  revolvers  shooting  little  hydrocyanic  acid 
gas  bullets,  they're  waiting  the  signal — a  rocket  in  mid- 
heaven." 

"Hydrocyanic  acid  gas!"  exclaimed  Marion,  forgetting 
to  smoke.  "Why,  one  whiff  of  that  is  death !" 

"It  is,"  agreed  Gabriel.  "Remember,  this  is  a  war  of 
extermination.  It's  a  case  of  them  or  us!  And  if  we're 
worsted,  the  whole  world  loses;  while  if  they  are,  then 
liberty  is  born!  That's  why  this  gas  is  justifiable. 
They'll  try  to  use  oxygen-bullets  on  us,  never  fear.  But 
where  they  can  kill  ten,  with  those,  we  can  annihilate  a 
hundred  with  our  kind.  Swine,  they  have  called  us,  and 


"COMES  THE  HOUR  SUPREME"          291 

foois  and  apes.  Well,  we  shall  see,  we  shall  see,  when 
it  comes  to  an  out-and-out  light  between  Plutocrat  and 
Proletarian,  who  is  the  better  man!'' 

Again  came  silence.  And  this  time  it  was  Grantham 
who  broke  it. 

"Comrades,"  said  he,  "after  you've  seen  as  many  So 
cialists  shot  down  as  /  have — shot  down  and  burned,  as 
brevard  was — you'll  lose  any  lingering  ideas  of  civilized 
warfare  you  may  still  retain.  They  hunt  us  like  beasts, 
prison  us  in  foul  traps,  ride  us  down,  crush  us,  break  and 
tear  us,  and  burn  us  alive,  because  we  struggle  to  be  free 
men  and  women,  not  slaves.  Now  that  our  hour  has 
struck,  now  that  their  lines  of  communication  and  de 
fense  are  breached,  and  they — though  they  still  don't  fully 
understand  it — are  penned  there  in  their  heaven-offend 
ing,  monstrous,  horrible  plant  at  the  Falls,  no  true  man 
can  hesitate  to  smash  them  down  with  no  more  compunc 
tion  than  as  though  they  were  so  many  rattlesnakes  or 
scorpions ! 

"This  isn't  1915,  when  political  and  civil  rights  still 
existed,  and  we  weren't  hunted  outlaws.  This  is  1925, 
and  conditions  are  all  different.  It's  war,  war,  war  to  the 
death,  now ;  and  if  war  is  Hell,  then  they  are  going  to  get 
Hell  this  time,  not  we." 

Nobody  spoke,  for  a  little  while ;  but  Marion  and  Craig 
smoked  contemplatively,  and  the  others  sat  there  in  the 
dusk,  sunk  in  thought. 

All  at  once  a  door  opened,  and  the  vague  form  of  a 
woman  became  visible. 

"Comrades,  you  must  go/'  said  she.  "It's  nearly  half 
past  five.  By  the  time  you've  got  everything  in  readiness, 
you'll  have  no  time  to  lose." 


292  THE    AIR     TRUST 

''Right,  Catherine,"  answered  Gabriel.  "Come,  com 
rades!  Up  and  at  it!" 

Ten  minutes  later  they  all  issued  forth  into  the  soft 
gloom.  All  were  in  aviator's  dress,  and  each  carried  a 
parcel  by  a  handle  held  with  stout  straps.  Had  you  seen 
them,  you  would  have  noticed  they  took  particular  pains 
not  to  jar  or  shake  these  parcels,  or  approach  unduly 
near  each  other. 

At  the  door  of  the  refuge,  Catherine  said  good-bye  to 
each,  and  added  some  brave  word  of  cheer.  Her  farewell 
to  Gabriel  was  longer  than  to  the  others;  and  for  a  mo 
ment  their  hands  met  and  clung. 

"Go,"  she  whispered,  "go,  and  God  bless  you!  Go 
even  though  it  be  to  death!  Their  airmen  will  take  toll 
of  some  of  the  attackers,  Gabriel.  Not  all  the  Comrades 
will  return.  Oh,  may  you — may  you!" 

"What  is  written  on  the  6ook  of  Fate,  will  be,"  he 
answered.  "Our  petty  hopes  and  fears  are  nothing,  Cath 
erine.  If  death  awaits  me,  it  will  be  sweet;  for  it  will 
come,  tonight,  in  the  supreme  service  of  the  human  race! 
Good-bye!" 

With  a  sudden  motion,  the  girl  took  his  face  between 
her  hands,  and  kissed  his  forehead.  For  all  her  courage 
and  strength,  he  sensed  her  heart  wildly  beating  and  he 
felt  her  tears. 

"Good-bye,  Gabriel,"  she  breathed.  "Would  I  might 
go  with  you !  Would  that  my  duty  did  not  hold  me  here ! 
Good-bye!" 

Then  he  was  gone,  gone  with  the  others,  into  the  thick 
ening  obscurity  of  the  fog-shrouded  evening.  Now  Cath 
erine  stood  there  alone,  head  bowed  and  wet  face  hidden 
in  both  hands. 


"COMES  THE  HOUR  SUPREME"          293 

As  the  little  fighting  band  disappeared,  back  to  the  girl 
drifted  a  few  words  of  song,  soft-hummed  through  the 
dusk — the  deathless  chorus  of  the  International : 

"Noiv  comes  the  hour  supreme! 
To  arms,  each  in  his  place! 
The  new  dan'n's  International 
Shall  be  the  human  race!  .  .   ." 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 
THE  ATTACK. 

"Ip^ALT!     Who  goes  there?" 

J-J  The  challenge  rang  sharply  on  the  night  air,  out 
side  a  small  gate  in  the  barricade  of  the  Monck  Aviation 
Grounds. 

"Liberty!"  answered  Gabriel,  pausing  as  he  gave  the 
password. 

"All  right,  come  on,"  said  a  vague  figure  at  the  gate. 
The  little  group  approached.  The  gate  opened.  Silently 
they  entered  the  enclosure. 

Another  man  stepped  from  a  hangar.  In  his  hand  he 
held  an  electric  flash,  which  he  threw  upon  the  new 
comers,  one  by  one. 

"Right !"  he  commented,  and  took  Gabriel  by  the  hand. 
"This  way!" 

Ten  minutes  later,  all  of  them  were  in  the  air,  save  only 
Gabriel,  who  insisted  on  staying  till  his  entire  squad  had 
made  a  clean  getaway.  Then  he  too  rose;  and  now  in  a 
long,  swift  line,  the  righting  squadron  straightened  away 
to  north-eastward,  on  the  twenty-mile  run  to  Niagara. 

The  night  was  foggy,  chill  and  dark.  All  the  aviators 
had  instructions  to  fly  not  less  than  2,500  feet  high,  to 
keep  a  careful  lookout  lest  they  collide,  and  to  steer  by 
the  lights  of  the  great  Air  Trust  plant.  For,  misty  though 
the  heavens  were,  still  Gabriel  could  see  the  dim  glow  of 
the  tremendous  aerial  search-lights  dominating  Goat  Is- 


T  H  E     A  T  T  A  C  K  295 

land — lights  of  5,000,000  candle-power,  maintained  by 
current  from  the  Falls,  incessantly  sweeping  the  sky  on 
the  lookout  for  just  such  perils  as  now,  indeed,  were 
drawing  near. 

Momently,  as  he  flew,  Gabriel  perceived  these  huge 
lights  growing  brighter,  through  the  mist,  and  appre 
hension  won  upon  him. 

"Incredibly  strong!"  he  muttered  to  himself,  as  he 
glanced  from  his  barometer  to  the  shining  fog  ahead. 
"Even  though  the  mist  will  be  thicker  over  the  Falls  than 
anywhere  else,  there's  a  good  possibility  they  may  pierce 
it  and  pick  us  up — and  then,  look  out  for  their  'planes 
and  swift,  fighting  dirigibles!" 

He  rotated  the  rising-plane,  and  now  soared  to  2.800 
feet.  Below  and  on  either  side  of  him,  nothing  but  ten 
uous  fog.  Ahead,  the  swiftly-approaching  fan  of  radi 
ance,  white,  dazzling,  beautiful,  that  seemed  to  gush  from 
earth  so  far  below  and  to  the  eastward.  Already  the 
thunders  of  the  Falls  were  audible. 

"Where  are  the  others?"  Gabriel  wondered,  his 
thoughts  seeming  to  hum  and  roar  in  his  head,  in  har 
mony  with  the  shuddering  diapason  of  the  muffler-dead 
ened  exhaust.  "No  way  of  telling,  now.  Each  man  for 
himself — and  each  to  do  his  best!" 

And  then  his  thoughts  reverted  to  Catherine:  and  round 
his  heart  a  sudden  yearning-  seemed  to  strengthen  his 
stern,  indomitable  resolve — "Victory  or  death!" 

But  now  there  was  scant  time  for  though t.  The  mo 
ment  of  action  was  already  close  at  hand.  Far  below 
t^ei-p.  hidden  bv  night  and  dark  and  mist.  Gabriel  knew 
?  hundred  thousand  comrades,  of  the  Fighting-  Sections 
were  lying  hidden,  waiting  for  the  signal  to  advance. 


296  THE     AIR     TRUST 

"And  it's  time,  now !"  he  said  aloud,  thrilled  by  a  won 
drous  sense  of  vast  responsibility — a  sense  that  on  this  mo 
ment  hung  the  fate  of  the  world.  "It's  time  for  the  sig 
nal.  Now  then,  up  and  at  them !" 

Taking  the  rocket — a  powerful  affair,  capable  of  cast 
ing  an  intense,  calcium  light — he  touched  the  fuse  to  a 
bit  of  smouldering  punk  fastened  in  a  metal  cup  at  his 
right  hand.  Then,  as  it  flared,  he  launched  the  rocket  far 
into  the  void. 

Below,  came  a  quick  spurt  of  radiance,  in  a  long,  vivid 
streak  that  shot  away  with  incredible  rapidity.  Gabriel 
followed  it  a  moment,  with  his  gaze,  then  smiled. 

"The  Rubicon  is  crossed,"  said  he.  "The  gates  of  the 
Temple  of  Janus  are  open  wide — and  now  comes  War!" 

He  rose  again,  skimming  to  a  still  higher  altitude  as 
the  glare  of  the  great  Works  drew  closer  and  closer  un 
derneath.  The  wind  roared  in  his  ears,  louder  than  the 
whirling  propellers.  The  whole  fabric  of  the  aeroplane 
quivered  as  it  climbed,  up,  up  above  the  rushing,  bellow 
ing  cataract. 

"Where  are  the  others  ?"  thought  he,  and  reached  for  a 
thanatos  projectile,  in  the  rack  near  the  metal  cup  where 
the  punk  still  glowered. 

All  at  once,  a  glare  of  light  burst  upward  through  the 
white-glowing  mist;  and  the  'plane  reeled  with  the  air 
wave,  as  now  a  thunderous  concussion  boomed  across  the 
empty  spaces  of  the  sky. 

At  the  same  moment,  a  faint,  ripping  noise  mounted  to 
Gabriel — a  sound  for  all  the  world  like  the  tearing  of 
stout  canvas.  Then  followed  a  chattering  racket,  some 
thing  like  distant  mowing-machines  at  work;  and  now 
all  blent  to  a  steady,  determined  uproar.  Gabriel  almost 


THE     ATTACK  297 

thought  to  hear,  as  he  launched  his  own  projectile,  far 
sounds  as  of  the  shouts  and  cries  of  men;  but  of  this  he 
could  not  make  sure. 

'They're  at  it,  anyhow!"  he  exulted.  ."At  it,  at  last! 
By  the  way  our  men  have  launched  the  attack,  the  first 
explosion  must  have  breached  a  wall!  God!  What 
wouldn't  I  give  to  be  down  there,  in  the  thick  of  it,  rather 
than  here!  I " 

C fash  I 

Again  a  spouting  geyser  of  light  and  uproar  burst  into 
mid-air. 

"That  was  my  thanatos  speaking!"  cried  Gabriel.  "Now 
for  another!" 

Before  he  could  drop  it,  as  he  circled  round  and  round, 
directly  over  the  great,  flailing  beams  of  the  Air  Trust 
search-lights,  a  third  detonation  shattered  the  heavens, 
nearly  unseating  him.  Up  sprang  the  roar,  with  wonder 
ful  intensity,  reflected  from  the  earth  as  from  a  giant 
sounding-board.  And  Gabriel  noted,  with  keen  satis 
faction,  that  one  of  the  huge  light-beams  had  gone  dark. 

"Put  out  one  of  them,  anyway,  so  far!"  thought  he, 
and  swung  again  to  westward,  and  once  more  dropped 
a  messenger  of  death  to  tyranny. 

Xow  the  bombardment  became  general.  Trust  aerial- 
gun  projectiles  began  bursting  all  about.  Every  second 
or  two,  terrible  concussions  leaped  toward  the  zenith ;  and 
the  earth,  hidden  somewhere  down  there  below  the  fog- 
blanket,  seemed  flaming  upward  like  a  huge  volcano. 
One  by  one  the  search-lights,  whipping  the  sky,  went 
black;  and  now  the  glow  of  them  was  fast  diminishing, 
only  to  be  replaced  by  a  ruddier  and  more  intermittent 
glare. 


298  THE     AIR     TRUST 

"The  plant's  burning,  at  last,"  thought  Gabriel. 
"Heaven  grant  the  fire  may  spread  to  the  oxygen-tanks! 
If  we  can  only  get  those !" 

Again  he  launched  a  projectile,  and  again  he  circled 
over  the  doomed  plant. 

A  swift  black  shape  swooped  by  him.  He  had  just 
time  to  exchange  a  yell  of  warning,  when  it  was  gone. 
The  near  peril  gripped  his  heart,  but  did  not  shake  it. 

"Close  call!"  said  he. 

If  that  machine  and  his  had  met,  good-bye  forever! 
But  after  all,  the  danger  of  collision  in  mid-air,  or  of  be 
ing  struck  by  a  projectile  from  some  other  machine, 
above,  was  no  greater  than  his  comrades  on  the  ground 
were  facing.  Not  so  great,  perhaps.  Many  a  one  would 
meet  his  death  from  the  aerial  attack.  In  a  war  like  this, 
a  thousand  perils  threatened.  Gabriel  only  hoped  that 
Hargreaves,  down  below  there,  could  hold  them  back, 
away,  till  the  walls  should  have  been  destroyed. 

Circling,  ever  circling,  now  hearing  some  echoes  of  the 
earth-battle,  some  grenade-volleys  and  rapid-fire  clatter 
ing,  now  deafened  and  all  but  blinded  by  the  vast,  up- 
belching  explosions  of  the  thanatos  projectiles,  Gabriel 
flew  among  the  drifting  mists  and  vapors.  Still  was  he 
guided  by  one  or  two  search-lights;  but  most  of  these 
were  ^one,  now.  Yet  the  glare  of  the  conflagration,  be 
low,  was  luridly  shuddering  through  the  fog,  painting  it 
all  a  dull  a^d  awful  red. 

Red!  Suddenly  words  came  into  Gabriel's  mind — the 
words  of  his  own  poem : 

.     .      .     Red  as  blood,  red  as  blood!     The  blood  of  the 
shattered  miner. 


THE     ATTACK  299 

Blood  of  the  boy  in  the  rifle  pits,  blood  of  the  coughing 

child-slave. 
Blood  of  tJie  mangled  trainman,  blood  that  the  Carpenter 

shed! 

"For  your  sake!  For  the  world's  sake,  this!"  he  cried, 
and  hurled  another  thanatos.  "If  ever  war  of  liberation 
was  holy,  this  is  that  war!" 

Suddenly,  through  all  the  turmoil  of  shattering  explo 
sions,  tossing  air-currents  and  drifting,  acrid  smoke,  he 
became  conscious  of  a  sudden,  swift-flying  pursuer. 

By  the  light  of  the  burning  Plant,  down  there  some 
where  in  the  vapors  of  the  thunderous  Falls,  he  saw  a 
hawk-like  'plane  that  swooped  toward  him  with  incredible 
velocity,  savage  and  lean  and  black. 

Oft  to  the  right,  a  sudden  spattering  of  shots  in  mid 
air  told  him  the  battle  in  the  sky  was  likewise  being  en 
gaged.  He  saw  vague,  veiled  explosions,  there,  then  a 
swift,  falling  trail  of  flame.  A  pang  shot  through  his 
heart.  Had  one  of  his  companions  fallen  and  been  dashed 
to  death  ?  He  could  not  tell — he  had  no  time  to  wonder, 
even,  for  already  the  attacker  wras  upon  him,  the  swift 
Air  Trust  epervier,  one  of  the  dreaded  air-fleet  of  the 
world-monopoly ! 

Gabriel  had  just  time  to  swerve  from  the  attack,  and 
swoop  aloft — dropping  his  next  to  last  projectile  as  he 
did  so — when  the  whirling  shape  zooned  past,  swung 
round  and  once  more  charged.  He  saw,  vaguely,  two 
men  sat  in  it.  One  was  the  pilot,  a  "Gray"  or  Cosmos 
mercenary.  The  other — could  it  be?  Yes,  there  \vas  no 
mistaking!  The  other  was  Slade  himself,  commander  of 
the  hireling  army  of  Plutocracy  ! 


300  THE     AIR     TRUST 

Out  from  the  attacking  'plane  jetted  sudden  spurts  of 
fire.  Gabriel  heard  the  zip-zip-zip  of  bullets ;  heard  a  rip 
ping  tear,  as  one  of  his  canvas  wings  was  punctured — 
God  help  him,  had  that  explosive  bullet  struck  a  wire  or 
a  stay! 

Then,  maddened  to  despair;  and  burning  with  fierce 
rage  against  this  monster  of  the  upper  air  that  now  was 
hurling  death  at  him,  he  once  more  "banked,"  brought  his 
machine  sharp  round,  and  charged,  full  drive,  at  the  at 
tacker! 

This  tactic  for  a  second  must  have  disconcerted  the  Air 
Trust  mercenaries.  Gabriel's  speed  was  terrific.  With 
stupefying  suddenness,  the  epervier  loomed  up  ahead  of 
him. 

"Now !"  he  shouted.    "Take  this,  from  me !" 

Half  rising  from  his  seat,  he  hurled  his  last  remaining 
projectile  full  at  Slade,  then  wrenched  his  own  'plane  off 
sharply  to  the  left. 

A  thunderous  concussion  and  a  dazzling  burst  oi  light 
told  him  his  chance  shot  had  been  effective. 

He  got  a  second's  vision  of  a  shattered  black  mass,  a 
tangle  of  girders,  wires,  collapsed  planes,  that  seemed  to 
hang  a  moment  in  midair — of  whirling  bodies — of  wreck 
age  indescribable.  Then  the  broken  debris  plunged  with 
awful  speed  and  vanished  through  the  red-glowing  mist. 

Even  as  he  shuddered,  sickened  at  the  terrible,  though 
necessary  deed,  the  deed  which  alone  could  save  him  from 
swift  death,  an  overwhelming  air-wave  from  the  terrible 
explosion  struck  his  speeding  machine,  the  machine  cap 
tured  in  the  Great  Smokies  from  the  Air  Trust  itself. 

It  heeled  over  like  an  unballasted  yacht  under  the  lash 


THE     ATTACK  301 

of  a  hurricane.  Vainly  Gabriel  jerked  at  wheel  and 
levers;  he  could  not  right  it. 

As  it  seemed  to  come  under  control,  a  stay  snapped. 
The  'plane  swooped,  yawned  forward  and  stuck  its  nose 
into  an  air-hole,  caused  by  the  vast,  uprising  smoke  and 
heat  of  the  huge  conflagration  beneath. 

Then,  lost  and  beyond  all  guidance,  it  somersaulted,  slid 
away  down  a  long  drop  and,  whirling  wildly  over  and 
over,  plunged  with  Gabriel  into  the  glowing,  smoking, 
detonating  void! 


CHAPTER  XXXV 
TERROR  AND  RETREAT. 

Jilpf|HEN,  despite  Flint's  imperative  orders,  Slade  failed 
\JLr  to  reopen  the  lines  of  communication  for  him,  be 
fore  nightfall,  and  when  President  Supple  wired  in  code 
for  a  little  more  time  in  obeying  Air  Trust  orders,  the 
Billionaire  recognized  that  something  of  terrible  menace 
now  had  suddenly  broken  in  upon  his  dream  of  universal 
power. 

He  summoned  Waldron  and  Herzog  for  another  con 
ference  and  together  they  feverishly  planned  to  put  the 
works  under  defense,  until  such  time  as  troops  could  be 
got  through  to  them. 

The  plant  regiment  was  mustered  and  the  Cosmos  mer 
cenaries  and  scabs  were  made  ready.  The  machine-guns 
were  unlimbered  for  action  and  large  quantities  of  am 
munition  were  delivered  to  them  and  to  the  aerial-bomb 
guns,  as  nightfall  lowered.  Herzog  set  eight  hundred 
men  to  work  covering  all  the  tanks  possible,  with  wire 
netting  of  heavy  steel.  The  search-lights  were  all  ordered 
into  use;  steam  and  electrical  connections  were  made,  the 
air-fleet  was  manned,  and  everything  was  done  that  un 
limited  wealth  and  bitter  hate  of  the  Workers  could  sug 
gest. 

With  curses  on  the  fog,  which  hid  the  upper  air  from 
view,  the  old  man  now  stood  at  one  of  the  west  windows 
of  his  inner  office — the  office  on  the  top  floor  of  the  main 


TERROR     AND     RETREAT      303 

Administration  Building,  overlooking  nearly  the  whole 
Plant. 

"Damn  the  weather!"  he  snarled,  his  gold  teeth  glint 
ing.  "In  addition  to  all  this  mist  from  the  Falls,  there's 
a  regular  cloud-bank  settling  down,  tonight!  Under 
cover  of  it,  what  may  not  happen?  Nothing  could  have 
been  worse,  Waldron.  Though  we  shall  soon  control  the 
air,  that  won't  be  enough,  so  long  as  fogs  and  mists  escape 
us.  Our  next  problem — hello!  Now  what  the  devil's 
that?" 

"What's  what?"  retorted  Waldron,  testily.  He  had 
been  drinking  rather  more  heavily  than  usual,  that  day, 
both  because  of  the  dull  weather  and  because  the  Falls 
invariably  got  on  his  nerves,  during  his  brief  sojourns 
there.  Away  from  New  York  and  his  favorite  haunts, 
Waldron  was  lost.  "What's  what?"  he  repeated  with  an 
ugly  look.  "This  roaring,  glaring,  trembling  place  gives 
me- " 

"That!  That  light  in  the  sky!"  cried  Flint,  excitedly 
pointing.  "See?  No — it's  gone  now!  But  it  looked  like 
—like  a  rocket!  A  signal,  of  some  kind,  thrown  from 
an  aeroplane!  A " 

Waldron  laughed  harshly. 

"Seeing  things,  eh?"  he  sneered,  coming  across  to  the 
window,  himself,  and  peering  .out.  "I  don't  see  any 
thing-!  Nothing  here  to  worry  about,  Flint.  With  all 
these  walls  and  guns,  and  netting,  and  air-ships  and  a 
private  army  and  all,  what  more  do  you  want?  Not  get 
ting  nervous  in  your  old  age,  are  you,  eh?"  he  gibed 
bitterly.  "Or  is  your  conscience  beginning  to  wake  up, 
as  the  graveyard  becomes  more  a  probability  than " 

"Enough!"  Flint  snapped  at  him.     "When  you  drink. 


304  THE     AIR     TRUST 

Waldron,  you're  an  idiot!  Now,  forget  all  this,  and 
let's  get  down  to  work.  I  tell  you,  I  just  now  saw  a 
signal-light  up  there  in  the  mist.  There's  trouble  com 
ing,  tonight,  as  sure  as  we  own  the  earth.  Trouble, 
maybe  big  trouble.  Merciful  God,  I — I  rather  think  we 
oughtn't  to  be  here,  in  person,  eh?  We'd  be  much  bet 
ter  off  out  of  here.  If  there — there  should  be  any  fight 
ing,  you  know " 

His  voice  broke  in  a  falsetto  pipe.  Waldron  laughed 
brutally. 

"Bravo!"  cried  he,  with  flushed  and  mottled  face. 
"You'll  do,  Flint !  I  see,  right  now,  the  firing-line  is  the 
life  for  you!  Well,  let  the  row  come,  and  devil  take  it, 
say  I.  Better  anything  than " 

The  sentence  was  never  finished.  For  suddenly  a  shat 
tering  explosion  hurled  a  vast  section  of  the  western 
encircling  wall  outward,  out  into  the  River,  and,  where 
but  a  moment  before,  the  partners  had  been  gazing  at  a 
high  concrete-and-steel  barrier,  with  electric  lights  on  top, 
now  only  a  huge  gap  appeared,  through  which  the  foam- 
tossed  current  could  be  seen  leaping  swiftly  onward  to 
ward  the  Falls. 

Hurled  back  from  the  window  by  the  force  of  the 
explosion,  both  men  were  struck  dumb  with  terror  and 
amaze.  Flint  rallied  first,  and  with  a  cry  of  rage,  inar 
ticulate  as  a  beast's  howl,  sprang  to  the  window  again. 

Outside,  a  scene  of  desolation  and  wild  activity  was 
visible.  The  great,  paved  courtyard,  flanked  by  the  tur 
bine  houses  and  the  wall,  on  one  hand,  and  on  the  other 
by  the  oxygen  tanks'  huge  bulk  that  loomed  vaguely 
through  the  electric-lighted  mist,  now  had  begun  to 
swarm  with  men. 


TERROR     AND     RETREAT         305 

Flint  saw  a  few  forms  lying  prone  under  the  hard  glare 
of  the  arcs  and  vacuum  lights.  Others  were  crawling, 
writhing,  making  strange  contortions.  Here,  there,  men 
with  rifles  were  running  to  take  their  posts.  Hoarse 
orders  were  shouted,  and  shrill  replies  rang  back. 

Then,  all  at  once,  a  kind  of  sputtering  series  of  small 
explosions  began  to  rip  along  the  edge  of  the  south  wall. 
And  now,  machine-guns  began  to  talk,  with  a  dry,  hard 
metallic  clatter.  And — though  whence  these  came,  Flint 
could  not  see — grenades  began  flying  over  the  wall  and 
bursting  in  the  court.  Though  unwounded,  men  fell 
every  where  these  gas-projectiles  exploded — fell,  stone 
dead  and  stiffening  at  once — fell,  in  strange,  monstrous, 
awful  attitudes  of  death. 

Steam  began  billowing  up ;  and  crackling  electrical  dis 
charges  leaped  along  the  naked  wires  of  the  outer  bar 
ricades. 

The  whole  Plant  shook  and  rattled  with  the  violent  con 
cussions  of  the  aerial-bomb  guns,  already  searching  the 
upper  air  with  shrapnel. 

Somewhere,  out  of  the  range  of  vision,  another  ter 
rible  shock  made  the  building  tremble  to  its  nethermost 
foundation;  and  wild  yells  and  cries,  as  of  a  charge,  a 
repulse,  a  savage  and  determined  rush,  echoed  through 
the  vast  enclosure.  Came  a  third  detonation — and.  blind 
ing  in  its  intensity,  a  globe  of  fire  burst  almost  beneath 
the  window,  five  stories  below. 

The  partners,  shaking  and  pale,  retreated  hastily.  A 
swift,  upward-rising  shape  swept  over  the  courtyard  and 
was  gone — one  of  the  air-fleet  now  launched  to  meet  the 
attackers. 

Far  below  a  sudden  crumbling  shudder  of  mason ry  told 


306  THE     AIR     TRUST 

the  Billionaire  not  a  moment  was  to  be  lost,  for  already 
one  wing  of  the  Administration  Building  was  swaying  to 
its  fall. 

"Quick,  Waldron!  Quick!"  he  shouted,  in  the  shrill 
treble  of  senility,  and  ran  into  the  corridor  that  led  to 
the  north  wing.  Waldron,  suddenly  sobered,  followed; 
and  from  the  offices,  where  the  night-shift  of  clerks  were 
laboring  (or  had  been,  till  the  first  explosion),  came 
crowding  pale  and  frightened  men.  Not  the  fighting  cast 
of  Air  Trust  slaves,  these,  but  the  anaemic  chemists  and 
experimenters  and  clerical  workers,  scabs,  to  a  man. 
Now,  in  the  common  sentiment  of  fear,  they  jostled  Flint 
and  Waldron,  as  though  these  plutocrats  had  been  but 
common  clay.  And  in  the  corridor  a  babel  rose,  through 
which  fresh  volleys  and  ever  more  and  more  violent  ex 
plosions  ripped  and  thundered. 

Flint  struck  savagely  at  some  who  barred  his  way ;  and 
Waldron  elbowed  through,  with  curses. 

"Get  out  of  the  way,  you  swine !"  shrilled  the  old  Bil 
lionaire.  "Make  way,  there !  Way !" 

The  two1  men  reached  a  door  that  led  by  a  private  pass 
age,  through  to  the  steel-and-concrete  laboratories. 

"Here,  this  way,  Flint !"  shouted  Waldron.  "If  those 
Hell-devils  drop  a  bomb  on  us,  this  building  will  cave  in 
like  jackstraws!  Our  only  safety  is  here,  here!" 

Thoroughly  cowed  now,  with  all  the  brutal  bluster  and 
half-drunken  swagger  gone,  Waldron  whipped  out  a  bunch 
of  (<eys,  tremblingly  unlocked  the  door  and  blundered 
through.  Flint  followed.  Behind  them,  others  tried  to 
press,  on  toward  the  armored  laboratories;  but  with  vile 
blasphemies  the  plutocrats  beat  them  back  and  slammed 
the  door. 


TERROR    AND     RETREAT        307 

"To  Hell  with  them!''  shouted  Flint,  perfectly  ashen 
now 'and  shaking  like  a  leaf,  the  fear  of  death  strong  on 
his  withered  soul.  "We've  got  all  we  can  do  to  look 
after  ourselves!  Quick,  \Valdron,  quick!'' 

Both  men,  sick  with  panic,  with  fear  of  the  unknown 
terror  from  above,  stumbled  rather  than  ran  along  the 
passage,  and  presently  reached  the  laboratory. 

Here  Waldron  unlocked  another  door,  this  time  a 
steel  one,  and — as  they  both  crowded  through — pressed 
a  hand  to  his  dizzy  head. 

"Safe!"  he  gulped,  slamming  the  door  again.  "They 
can't  get  us  here,  at  any  rate,  no  matter  what  happens! 
This  place  is  like  a  fort,  and " 

His  speech  was  interrupted  by  a  dazing,  deafening 
tumult  of  sound.  The  earth  trembled,  and  the  labora 
tory,  steel  though  it  was,  with  concrete  facing,  rocked 
on  its  foundation.  A  glare  through  the  windows,  quickly 
fading,  told  them  the  building  they  had  just  quitted  was 
now  but  a  smoking  pile  of  ruin. 

Flint  gasped,  unable  to  speak.  Waldron,  shaking  and 
cowed,  tried  to  moisten  his  dry  lips  with  a  thick  tongue. 

"We — we  weren't  any  too  soon!"  he  gulped,  without 
one  thought  of  the  doomed  scabs  in  the  Administration 
Building.  Stern  justice  was  now  overtaking  these 
wretches.  False  to  the  working-class,  and  eager  to  serve 
the  Air  Trust — not  only  eager  to  serve,  but  zealous  in 
any  attack  on  the  proletariat,  and  by  their  very  employ 
ment  serving  to  rivet  the  shackles  on  the  world — now 
they  were  abandoned  by  their  masters. 

Between  upper  and  nether  millstone,  moving  with 
neither,  they  were  caught  and  crushed.  And  as  the  great 


308  THE     AIR     TRUST 

building  quivered,  gaped  wide  open,  swayed  and  came 
thundering  down  in  a  vast  pile  of  flame-lit  ruin,  whence 
a  volcanic  burst  of  fire,  smoke  and  dust  arose,  they  per 
ished  miserably,  time-servers,  cowards  and  self-seekers 
to  the  last. 

But  Flint  and  Waldron  still  survived.  Though  the 
very  earth  shook  and  trembled  with  the  roar  o<f  bombs, 
the  crumbling  of  massive  walls,  the  rattle  of  volley-fire 
and  the  crashing  of  the  terrible  grenades  that  mowed 
down  hundreds  as  they  spread  their  poisonous  gas  abroad 
— though  the  shriek  of  projectiles,  the  thunder  of  the 
air-ship  guns  now  sweeping  the  sky  in  blind  endeavor 
to  shatter  the  attackers  all  swelled  the  tumult  to  a  fright 
ful  storm  of  terror  and  oi  death,  they  still  lived,  cowered 
and  cringed  there  in  the  bomb-proof  steel-and-concrete  of 
the  inner  laboratories. 

"Come,  come!"  Flint  quavered,  peering  about  him  at 
the  deserted  room,  still  glaring  with  electric  light — the 
room  now  abandoned  by  all  its  workers,  who,  members 
of  Herzog's  regiment,  had  run  to  take  their  posts  at  the 
first  signal  of  attack.  "Come — this  isn't  safe  enough, 
even  here.  In — in  there!" 

He  pointed  toward  a  vault-like  door,  leading  to  the 
subterranean  steel  chambers  where  Herzog  eventually 
counted  on  storing  some  hundreds  of  thousands  of  tons 
of  liquid  oxygen — the  reserve-chambers,  impregnable  to 
lightning,  fire,  frost  or  storm,  to  man's  attacks  or  na 
ture's — the  chambers  blasted  from  the  living  rock,  deep 
as  the  Falls  themselves,  vacuum-lined,  wondrous  achieve 
ment  of  the  highest  engineering  skill  the  world  could 
boast. 


TERROR     AND     RETREAT         309 

'There!  There!"  repeated  Flint,  plucking  at  the 
dazed  Waldron's  sleeve.  "Tool-steel  and  concrete,  twen 
ty-five  feet  thick — and  vacuum  chambers  all  about — 
there  we  can  hide!  There's  safety!  Come,  come 
quick!" 

Staring,  white-faced  (he  who  had  been  so  red!)  and 
dumb,  Waldron  yielded.  Together,  furtive  as  the  crim 
inals  they  were,  these  two  world-masters  slunk  toward 
the  steel  door,  while  without,  their  empire  was  crashing 
down  in  smoke,  and  flame,  and  blood ! 

They  had  almost  reached  it  when  a  smash  of  glass 
at  the  far  end  of  the  laboratory  whipped  them  round,  in 
keener  terror. 

Staring,  wild-eyed,  they  beheld  the  crouching  figure  of 
Herzog.  Running,  even  as  he  cringed,  he  had  upset  a 
glass  retort,  which  had  shattered  on  the  concrete  floor. 
And  as  he  ran,  he  screamed : 

"They're  in!  They're  coming!  Quick — the  steel 
vaults!  Let  me  in,  there!  Let  me  in!" 

The  coward  was  now  a  maniac  with  terror,  his  face 
perfectly  white,  writhen  with  panic,  and  with  staring 
eyes  that  gleamed  horribly  under  the  greenish  vacuum- 
lights. 

"Back,  you!  Get  out!"  roared  Waldron,  raising  a 
nst.  "We " 

A  sudden  belch  of  flame,  outside,  split  the  night  with 
terrible  virescence.  The  whole  steel  building  trembled 
and  swayed.  Some  of  its  girders  buckled;  and  the  east 
wall,  nearest  the  oxygen-tanks,  caved  inward  as  a  mass 
of  many  tons  was  hurled  against  it. 

A  stunning  concussion  flung  all  three  men  to  the  floor; 


310  THE     AIR     TRUST 

and,  as  they  fell,  a  withering  heat-wave  quivered  through 
the  place. 

"The  oxygen-tanks!"  gasped  Flint.  "They're  blown 
up — they're  burning — God  help  us!" 

Scorching,  yet  still  eager  to  live,  he  crawled  on  hands 
and  knees  toward  the  steel  door.  Waldron  dragged  him 
self  along,  half-dead  with  terror.  Now,  dripping  gouts 
of  inextinguishable  fire  were  raining  on  the  roof  of  the 
building.  A  whirlwind  of  flame  was  sweeping  all  its 
eastern  side;  and  a  glare  like  that  of  Hell  itself  seared 
the  eyes  of  the  fugitives. 

Quivering,  trembling,  slavering,  the  old  man  and 
Waldron  wrenched  the  steel  door  open. 

"Me!  Me!  Let  me  in!  Me!  Save  me!"  howled 
Herzog,  dragging  himself  toward  them. 

They  only  laughed  derisively,  with  howls  of  demonia 
cal  scorn. 

"You  slave!  You  cur!"  shouted  Waldron,  and  spat 
at  him  as  he  drew  the  vault  door  shut.  "You  cringing 
dog — stay  there,  now,  and  face  it!" 

The  great  door  boomed  shut.  In  the  cool  of  the  wind 
ing  stairway  of  steel  which  led,  lighted  by  electricity,  to 
the  trap-door  and  the  ladder  down  into  the  tremendous 
vaults,  the  world-masters  breathed  deeply  once  more,  re 
spited  from  death. 

Herzog,  screaming  like  a  fiend  in  torment,  clawed  at 
the  impenetrable  steel  door,  raved,  begged,  entreated,  and 
tore  his  fingers  on  the  lock. 

No  answer,  save  the  muffled  echo  of  a  jeer,  from 
within. 

Boom! 


TERROR     AND     RETREAT        311 

What  was  that? 

Mad  with  terror  though  he  was,  he  whirled  about,  and 
faced  the  room  now  quivering  with  heat. 

Even  as  he  looked,  a  great  gap  yawned  in  the  western 
wall,  farthest  from  the  flame-belching  oxygen-tank  that 
had  been  struck. 

Through  this  gap,  pouring  irresistibly  as  the  sea, 
swept  a  tide  of  attackers,  storming  the  inner  citadel  of 
the  infernal,  world-strangling  Air  Trust. 

At  the  head  of  this  victorious  army,  this  flood  tri 
umphant  of  the  embattled  proletaire,  Herzog's  staring 
eyes  caught  a  moment's  glimpse  of  a  dreaded  face — the 
face  of  Gabriel  Armstrong. 

Gasping,  the  coward  and  tool  of  the  world-masters 
made  one  supreme  decision.  Close  by,  a  rack  of  vials 
stood.  He  whirled  to  it,  snatched  out  a  tiny  bottle  and 
waiting  not  even  to  draw  the  cork — craunched  the  bot 
tle,  glass  and  all,  in  his  fang-like,  uneven  teeth. 

An  instant  change  swept  over  him.  His  staring  eyes 
closed,  his  head  fell  forward,  his  whole  body  collapsed 
like  an  empty  sack.  He  fell,  twitched  once  or  twice,  and 
was  dead — dead  ere  the  attackers  could  reach  the  door 
of  steel  where  his  bestial  masters  had  betrayed  him. 

Thus  perished  Herzog,  coward  and  tool,  a  victim  of 
the  very  forces  he  himself  had  helped  create. 

And  at  the  moment  of  his  death,  the  masters  he  had 
cringed  to  and  had  served,  sneering  with  scorn  at  him 
even  in  their  mortal  terror,  were  tremblingly  descending 
the  long  metal  ladder  to  the  impregnable  vaults  of  steel 
below. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 
THE  STORMING  OF  THE  WORKS. 

Q LUNGED  into  the  abyss  of  mist  and  flame  by  the 
attack  of  the  Air  Trust  epervier,  Gabriel  had  aban 
doned  himself  for  lost.  Death,  mercifully  swift,  he  had 
felt  could  be  his  only  fate;  and  with  this  thought  had 
come  no  fear,  but  only  a  wild  joy  that  he  had  shared 
this  glorious  battle,  sure  to  end  in  victory!  This  was 
his  only  thought — this,  and  a  quick  vision  of  Catherine. 

Then,  as  he  hurtled  down  and  over,  whirling  drunk- 
enly  in  the  void,  all  clear  perception  left  him.  Every 
thing  became  a  swift  blur,  a  rushing  confusion  of  ter 
rible  wind,  and  lurid  light,  and  the  wild  roar  of  myriad 
explosions. 

Came  a  shock,  a  sudden  checking  of  the  plunge,  a  long 
and  rapid  glide,  as  the  DeVreeland  stabilizer  of  the  ma 
chine,  asserting  its  automatic  action,  brought  it  to  a  level 
keel  once  more. 

But  now  the  engine  was  stopped.  Gabriel,  realizing 
that  some  chance  still  existed  to  save  his  life,  wrenched 
madly  at  his  levers. 

"If  I  can  volplane  down!"  he  panted,  sick  and  dizzy, 
"there  may  yet  be  hope!" 

Hope!  Yes,  but  how  tenuous!  What  chance  had 
he,  coasting  to  earth  at  that  low  level,  to  avoid  the  de 
tonating  bombs,  the  aerial  shrapnel  being  hurled  aloft, 
the  poisonous  gas,  the  surface-fire? 


STORMING  OF  THE  WORKS  313 

Here,  there  and  yonder,  terrific  explosions  were  shat 
tering  the  echoes,  as  the  Air  Trust  batteries  swept  the 
fog  with  their  aeroplane-destroying  missiles.  Whither 
should  he  steer?  He  knew  not.  All  sense  of  direction 
was  lost,  nor  could  the  compass  tell  him  anything.  A 
glance  at  the  barometric  gauge  showed  him  an  altitude 
of  but  850  feet,  and  this  was  decreasing  with  terrible 
rapidity. 

Strive  as  he  might,  he  could  not  check  the  swift  de 
scent. 

"God  send  me  a  soft  place  to  fall  on !"  he  thought, 
grimly,  still  clinging  to  his  machine  and  laboring  to 
jockey  it  under  control. 

Close  by,  a  thunderous  detonation  crashed  through  the 
mist.  His  machine  reeled  and  swerved,  then  plunged 
more  swiftly  still.  All  became  vague,  to  Gabriel — a 
dream — a  nightmare! 

Crash ! 

Flung  from  the  seat,  he  sprawled  through  treetops, 
caught  himself,  fell  to  a  lower  limb,  slid  off  and  landed 
among  thick  bushes;  and  through  these  came  to  earth. 

The  wrecked  'plane,  whirling  aw^ay  and  down,  fell 
crashing  into  the  river  that  rushed  cascading  by,  and 
vanished  in  the  firelit  mist. 

Stunned,  yet  half-conscious,  Gabriel  presently  sat  up 
and  pressed  his  right  hand  to  his  head.  His  left  arm 
felt  numb  and  useless;  and  when  he  tried  to  raise  it,  he 
found  it  refused  his  will. 

"Where  am  I,  now,  I'd  like  to  know?"  he  muttered. 
"Not  dead,  anyhow — not  yet!" 

A  continuous  roar  of  explosions  shuddered  the  air, 
mingled  with  the  booming  of  the  mighty  Falls.  Shouts 


314  THE     AIR     TRUST 

and  cheers  and  the  rattle  of  machine-guns  assailed  his 
ear.  The  glare  of  the  search-lights,  through  the  mist  and 
steam,  was  darkened  momentarily  by  thick,  greasy  coils 
of  smoke,  shot  through  by  violent  flashes  of  light  as  ex 
plosions  took  place. 

Gabriel  struggled  to  his  feet,  and  peered  about  him. 

"Still  alive !"  said  he.  "And  I  must  get  back  into  the 
fight !  That's  all  that  matters,  now— the  fight !" 

He  knew  not,  yet,  where  he  was;  but  this  mattered 
nothing.  His  machine  had,  in  fact,  fallen  near  the  river 
bank,  in  the  eastern  section  of  Prospect  Park,  beyond 
the  Goat  Island  bridge — this  region  of  the  Park  having 
been  left  outside  the  fortifications,  in  the  extension  of 
the  Air  Trust  plant. 

The  trees,  here,  had  saved  his  life.  Had  he  smashed 
to  earth  a  hundred  yards  further  north,  he  would  have 
been  shattered  against  high  walls  and  roofs. 

Still  giddy,  but  sensing  no  pain  from  his  injured  left 
arm,  Gabriel  made  way  toward  the  scene  of  conflict.  He 
knew  nothing  of  how  the  tide  of  battle  was  going;  noth 
ing  of  his  position;  nothing  as  to  what  men  he  would 
first  meet,  his  comrades  or  the  enemy. 

But  for  these  considerations  he  had  no  thought.  His 
only  idea,  fixed  and  grim,  was  "The  fight!"  Dazed 
though  he  still  was,  he  nerved  himself  for  action. 

And  so,  pressing  onward  through  the  livid  glare, 
through  the  night  shattered  by  stupendous  detonations, 
he  drew  his  revolver  and  broke  into  a  run. 

Strange  evidences  of  the  battle  now  became  evident. 
He  saw  an  unexploded  grenade  lying  beside  a  wounded 
man  who  grasped  at  him  and  moaned  with  pain.  Over 
a  wrecked  motor-car,  greasy  smoke  was  rising,  as  it 


STORMING  OF  THE  WORKS  315 

burned.  Louder,  shouting  drew  him  down  a  path  to  the 
left.  Masses  of  moving  figures  became  dimly  visible, 
through  the  mist.  And  now,  stabs  of  fire  pierced  the 
confusion  and  clamorous  night. 

Gabriel  jerked  up  his  revolver,  as  he  ran,  the  terrible 
weapon  shooting  bullets  charged  with  hydrocyanic-acid 
gas. 

A  man  rose  before  him,  shouting. 

Gabriel  levelled  the  weapon;  but  a  glimpse  of  red  rib 
bon  in  the  other's  coat  brought  it  down  again. 

"Comrade!"  cried  he.     "Where's  the  attack?" 

The  other  pointed. 

"Gabriel!     Is  that  you?"  he  gasped,  staring. 

"Yes!    I  fell — machine  smashed — come  on!" 

"Hurt?" 

"No!  Arm,  maybe.  No  matter!  God!  What's 
this?" 

Toward  them  a  sudden  swirl  of  men  came  sweeping, 
stumbling,  shouting,  in  pandemonium. 

"Our  men!"  cried  Gabriel,  starting  forward  again. 
"We're  being  driven !  Rally,  here !  Rally !" 

Beyond,  a  louder  crackling  sounded.  Here,  there,  men 
plunged  down.  The  retreat  was  becoming  a  rout ! 

Yelling,  Gabriel  flung  himself  upon  the  men. 

"Back  there!"  he  vociferated.  "Back,  and  at  the 
walls !  Come  on,  boys,  now !  Come  on !" 

His  voice,  well  known  to  nearly  all,  thrilled  them  again 
with  new  determination.  A  shout  rose  up;  it  swelled, 
deepened,  roared  to  majestic  volume. 

Then  the  tide  turned. 

Back  went  the  fighting  men  of  the  great  Revolution, 


316  THE    AIR     TRUST 

back  at  the  machine-guns,  mounted  in  the  breached 
walls. 

Gabriel  was  caught  and  whirled  along  in  that  living 
tide.  He  found  himself  at  its  crest,  its  foremost  wave. 
Behind  him,  a  roaring,  rushing  river  of  men.  Before 
the  Inner  Citadel. 

Gathering  speed  and  weight  as  it  rolled  up,  the  wave 
broke  like  an  ocean  surge  over  a  crumbling  dyke. 

Down  went  the  Air  Trust  gunners  and  the  guns,  down, 
down  to  annihilation! 

Through  the  breach,  foaming  and  swelling  with  irre 
sistible  power  burst  the  tides  of  victory. 

Silenced  now  were  the  Trust  guns.  The  steam- jets 
had  none  to  man  them.  Far  aloft,  a  last  explosion  toid 
the  death  story  of  the  final  epervier. 

Here  and  there,  from  windows  and  corners  of  the 
wrecked  and  blazing  plant,  a  little  intermittent  firing 
still  continued;  but  now  the  hearts  of  these  Air  Trust 
defenders — scabs,  thugs  and  scourings  of  the  slum — 
had  turned  to  water,  in  face  of  the  triumphant  army  of 
the  working  class. 

They  fled,  those  mercenaries,  and  all  the  ways  and  in 
ner  strongholds — such  as  still  were  left — now  lay  open 
to  Gabriel  and  his  comrades. 

Lighted  by  the  blazing  buildings  and  the  vast  fire-torch 
of  an  oxygen-tank  off  to  eastward,  they  stormed  the  final 
citadel,  the  steel  and  concrete  laboratories,  heart  and  soul 
and  center  of  the  hellish  world-conspiracy. 

Stormed  it,  as  it  began  to  blaze  and  crumble;  stormed 
it,  in  search  of  Flint  and  Waldron,  would-be  murderers 
of  the  world. 

Stormed  it,  only  to  see  Herzog  gnash  his  teeth  upon 


STORMING  OF  THE  WORKS  317 

the  flask,  and  fall,  and  die;  only  to  know  that  there, 
within  the  rock-hewn,  steel-lined  tanks,  below,  their  ene 
mies  had  still  outwitted  them ! 

The  swift  onrush  of  the  fire  drove  the  victors  back. 

"Out,  comrades!  Out  of  here!"  shouted  Gabriel,  fac 
ing  the  attackers. 

None  too  soon.  Hardly  had  they  beaten  a  retreat,  back 
into  the  vast  courtyard  again,  strewn  with  the  dead,  when 
a  second  oxygen  tank  exploded,  overwhelming  the  lab 
oratory  building  with  tons  of  flying  steel. 

Leaping  toward  the  zenith,  a  giant  tongue  of  flame 
roared  heavenward.  So  intense  the  heat  had  now  be 
come,  that  the  solid  brick  and  concrete  walls,  exposed 
to  the  direct  verberation  of  the  flame,  began  to  crack  and 
crumble. 

Gabriel  ordered  a  general  retreat  of  the  attacking  army. 
Victory  was  won;  and  to  stay  near  that  gushing  tornado 
of  flame,  with  new  explosions  bound  to  occur  as  the  other 
oxygen  tanks  let  go,  must  mean  annihilation. 

So  the  triumphant  Army  of  the  Proletaire  fell  back 
and  back  still  further,  out  into  the  wrecked  and  trampled 
Park,  and  all  through  the  city,  where  shattered  build 
ings,  many  of  them  ablaze,  and  broken  trees,  dead  bodies, 
smashed  ordnance  and  chaos  absolute  told  something  of 
the  story  of  that  brief  but  terrible  war. 

Ringed  round  the  perishing  ruins  of  the  Air  Trust 
they  stood,  these  mute,  thrilled  thousands.  Silence  fell, 
now,  as  they  watched  the  roaring,  ever-mounting  flames 
that,  whipped  by  the  breeze,  crashed  upward  in  long  and 
cadenced  tourbillions  of  white,  of  awful  incandescence. 

And  the  river,  ever-hurrying,  always  foaming  on  and 


318  THE    AIR     TRUST 

downward  to  its  titanic  plunge,  sparkled  with  eerie  lights 
in  that  vast  glow.  Its  voice  of  thunder  seemed  to  chant 
the  passing  and  the  requiem  of  the  Curse  of  the  World, 
Capitalism. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 
DEATH  IN  THE  PIT  OF  STEEL. 

aND  Flint,  now,  what  of  him !    And  Waldron  ? 
\Yhile  the  Air  Trust  plant  was  burning,  crumb 
ling,  smashing  down,  what  of  its  masters,  the  masters  of 
the  world? 

A  sense  of  vast  relief  possessed  them  both,  at  first,  as 
the  steel  door  clanged  after  them. 

Now,  for  a  time  at  least,  they  realized  that  they  were 
safe,  safe  from  the  People,  safe  from  the  awakened  and 
triumphant  Proletariat.  Even  now,  had  they  surren 
dered,  they  would  have  been  spared;  but  nothing  was 
further  from  their  thoughts  than  any  treating  with  the 
despised  and  hated  enemy. 

Foremost  in  the  mind  of  each,  now,  was  the  thought 
that  if  they  could  but  stand  siege,  a  day  or  so,  the  troops 
of  the  government — their  government  and  their  troops, 
their  own  personal  property — would  inevitably  rescue 
them. 

With  this  comforting  belief,  together  they  descended 
the  long  steel  staircase  to  the  trap-door,  passed  through 
this,  and  climbed  down  the  metal  ladder  to  the  vast  stor 
age- vaults. 

Here,  everything  was  cool  and  quiet  and  well-lighted. 
Not  yet  had  the  electric-generating  plant  been  put  out 
of  action.  Though  all  its  workers  had  either  been  draftee! 
into  the  ranks  of  the  Cosmos  mercenaries,  or  Herzog's 


320  THE     AIR     TRUST 

regiments,  or  else  had  fled  to  hiding,  still  the  huge  tur 
bines  and  enormous  dynamos  were  whirling,  unattended. 
Thus,  for  the  first  few  minutes,  in  their  living  tomb, 
down  over  which  the  ruins  of  the  now  white-hot  lab 
oratory-building  had  crashed,  the  world-masters  had  elec 
tric  light. 

Reassured  a  little,  they  descended  to  the  very  bottom 
of  the  first  huge  tank. 

"God !"  snarled  Flint,  as  he  breathed  deeply  and  glared 
about  him.  "The  curs!  The  swine!  To  think  of  this, 
this  really  happening!  And  to  think  that  if  we  hadn't 
got  here  just  in  time,  they'd  actually  have — have  used 
violence  on  us " 

Waldron  laughed  brutally,  his  body  still  trembling  and 
his  face  chalky.  His  laugh  echoed,  hollowly,  from  the 
metal  walls. 

"You  old  fool!"  he  spat.  "Canting  old  hypocrite  to 
the  last,  eh?  Violence?  What  the  devil  do  you  expect ? 
Rosewater  and  confetti  ?  Violence  was  all  that  ever  held 
'em,  wasn't  it?  And  when  they  slipped  the  leash,  nat 
urally  they  retorted — that's  all!  Violence?  You  make 
me  sick!  Damned  lucky  for  us  if  we  get  through  this 
yet,  without  violence,  you  whining  cur!" 

Flint,  for  the  first  time  hearing  Waldron's  honest  opin  - 
ion  of  him,  failed  even  to  note  it.  All  his  panic-stricken 
ear  had  caught  was  the  note  of  hope,  of  survival. 

Clutching  eagerly  at  Waldron's  sleeve,  he  cackle8 : 

"If  we  get  through?  If  we  get  through,  you  say.'* 
Then,  in  your  opinion,  there  is  a  chance  to  get  through? 
They  can't  get  us  here?  We  surely  shall  be  rescued?'' 

"Bah!"  Waldron  flung  at  him.  some  latent  spark  of 
courage  still  smouldering  in  his  sodden  breast,  whereas 


His   fingers   lost   their   hold— he   dropped    like  a    Plummet. 


DEATH  IN  THE  PIT  OF  STEEL          321 

old  Flint  was  craven  to  the  marrow.  "You  nauseate  me! 
Afraid  to  die,  eh?  Well,  so  am  I;  but  not  so  damned 
paralyzed  and  sick  with  panic  as  all  that!  If  you'd  taken 
less  dope,  the  last  twenty  years,  you'd  have  more  nerve 
now,  to  face  the  music!  World-master,  you?  Eh? 
Playing  the  biggest  game  on  earth — and  now,  when 
things  break  bad,  you  squeal!  Arrrh!  You  called  me 
a  quitter  once,  you  mealy-mouthed  old  Pecksniff!  We'll 
see,  now,  who  quits!  We'll  see,  at  a  show-down,  who 
can  face  it,  you  or  I!" 

Waldron's  brutality,  the  hard,  savage  quality  that  all 
his  life  had  made  him  "Tiger"  Waldron,  now  was  be 
ginning  to  reassert  itself.  His  first  sheer  panic  over,  a 
little  manhood  was  returning.  But  as  for  Flint,  no  man 
hood  dwelt  in  him  to  be  awakened.  Instead,  each  mo 
ment  found  him  more  abject  and  more  pitiable.  Like  an 
old  woman  he  now  wrung  his  hands  and  groaned, 
hysterically;  and  now  he  paced  the  steel  floor  of  the  vault 
that  was  destined  to  be  his  tomb;  and  nDw  he  stopped 
again  and  stared  about  him  with  wild  eyes. 

On  all  sides,  sheer  up  a  hundred  feet  or  more,  the 
smooth  steel  sides  of  the  vast  oxygen  tank  rose,  studded 
with  long  lines  of  rivets. 

Near  the  top  a  dark  aperture  showed  where  the  six- 
inch  pipe  joined  the  tank;  the  pipe  destined  to  fill  it, 
when  Herzog's  last  process — never,  now,  to  be  com 
pleted — should  have  been  done. 

The  huge  floor,  150  feet  in  diameter,  sloped  gently 
downward  toward  the  center;  and  here  yawned  another 
pipe,  covered  by  a  grating — the  pipe  to  drain  the  liquid 
oxygen  out  to  the  pumping  station. 

So  deeply  set  in  the  rock  of  the  Niagara  cliff  was  this 


322  THE    AIR    TRUST 

stupendous  tank,  and  so  cunningly  surrounded  by  vac 
uum-chambers,  that  now  no  faintest  sound  of  the  Falls 
was  audible.  All  that  betrayed  the  nearness  of  the  cat 
aract  was  a  faint,  incessant  trembling  of  the  metal  walls, 
as  though  the  solid  ribs  of  Earth  herself  were  shuddering 
with  the  impact  of  the  plunge. 

Old  Flint  surveyed  this  extraordinary  chamber  with 
mingled  feelings.  It  surely  offered  absolute  protection, 
for  the  present — or  seemed  to — but  his  distressed  mind 
conjured  alarming  pictures  of  the  future,  in  case  no 
rescue  came.  Death  by  starvation,  thirst  and  madness 
loomed  before  him.  Nervously  he  recommenced  his  pac 
ing.  Another  terribly  serious  factor  was  to  be  consid 
ered.  He  had  now  been  three  hours  without  his  dose  of 
morphia,  and  his  nerves  were  calling,  tugging  insistently 
for  it. 

"Rotten  luck,"  he  grumbled,  "that  I've  got  none  with 
me!"  Even  there,  in  the  imminent  presence  of  disaster 
and  death,  his  mind  revered  to  the  poison,  more  neces 
sary  to  him  than  food. 

Waldron  now  had  grown  fairly  calm.  He  stood  lean 
ing  against  the  steel  ladder,  down  which  they  had  de 
scended.  Choosing  a  cigar,  he  proceeded  to  light  up. 

"Might  as  well  be  comfortable  while  we  wait,"  said 
he.  "I  only  wish  we  had  a  couple  of  chairs,  down  here. 
Oversight  on  our  part  that  we  didn't  have  some  steel 
ones  put  in,  and  a  line  of  canned  goods  and  a  few  quarts 
of  Scotch.  The  floor's  a  bit  damp  and  cold  to  sit  on, 
and  I  want  a  drink  damn  bad!" 

Flint  swung  about  and  faced  him,  pale  and  shaking, 
tortured  with  fear  and  with  longing  for  his  dope. 


DEATH  IN  THE  PIT  OF  STEEL          323 

"You — you  don't  think  it  will  be  long,  eh,  do  you?" 
he  demanded.  "Not  long  before  we're  taken  out?" 

Waldron  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  blew  a  long,  thin 
arrow  of  smoke  athwart  the  brightly-lighted  air. 

"Search  me!"  he  exclaimed.  "To  judge  by  \vhat  was 
happening  when  we  made  our  exit,  the  Plant  must  be  a 
mess,  by  this  time.  We  seem  to  have  been  checked,  even 
if  not  mated,  Flint.  I  must  admit  they  caught  us  by  sur 
prise.  Caught  us  napping,  damn  them,  after  all!  They 
were  stronger  than  we  thought,  Flint,  and  cleverer,  and 
better  organized.  And  so " 

"Don't  say  'we/  curse  you!"  snarled  Flint.  "Blame 
yourself,  if  you  want  to,  but  leave  me  out !  /  knew  there 
was  trouble  due,  I  tell  you.  7  saw  it  coming!  Who's 
been  trying  to  crush  the  swine  completely,  if  not  I? 
Who's  worked  night  and  day  to  have  those  bills  put 
through,  and  who  had  the  army  increased,  and  conscrip 
tion  started?  Who's  driven  the  President  to  back  all 
sorts  of  things?  Who's  forced  them?  Who  made  the 
National  Mounted  Police  a  reality,  if  not  I  ?  Damn  you, 
don't  include  me  in  your  blame!" 

Waldron  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  smoked  con 
templatively. 

"Suit  yourself,"  he  answered.  "If  we  both  die,  down 
here,  it  won't  matter  much  either  way." 

"Die?"  quavered  the  old  jackal,  suddenly  forgetting 
his  rage  and  peering  about  with  furtive  eyes.  "Did 
you  say  die,  Wally?  No,  no!  You  didn't  say  that! 
You  didn't  mean  that,  surely!" 

Waldron  smiled,  evilly,  joying  in  this  abject  fear  of 
his  hated  partner. 


324  THE    AIR    TRUST 

"Oh,  yes,  I  did,  though,"  he  retorted.  "It's  quite  pos 
sible,  you  know.  In  case  our  government — yours,  if  you 
prefer — can't  get  troops  through,  here,  or  a  big  general 
revolution  sweeps  things,  inside  a  day  or  two,  we're 
done.  We'll  starve  and  stifle,  here,  sure  as  shooting!" 

"No,  no,  no!  Not  that,  not  that!"  whimpered  Flint, 
shuddering.  "I  can't  die,  yet.  I — I'm  not  ready  for  it! 
There's  all  that  missionary  work  of  mine  not  yet  done, 
and  my  huge  international  Sunday  School  League  to 
perfect;  and  there's  the  tremendous  ten-million-dollar 
Cathedral  of  Saint  Luke  the  Pious  that  I'm  having  built 
on  Riverside  Drive,  and  there's " 

"Cut  it!"  gibed  Waldron,  spitting  with  very  disgust. 
"If  your  time's  come,  Flint,  you'll  die,  cathedrals  or  no 
cathedrals.  Your  Sunday  schools  won't  save  you  any 
more  than  my  investments  will — which  have  largely  been 
wine,  women  and  song.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  if  it  comes 
to  starvation,  if  we  aren't  rescued  and  taken  out  from 
under  the  red-hot  wreckage  that's  on  top  of  us,  I'll  out 
live  you!  I  can  exist  on  my  surplus  adipose  tissue,  for 
a  while;  but  you — you're  nothing  but  skin  and  bone. 
You'll  starve  far  quicker  than  I  will,  old  man." 

"Don't!  Don't!"  implored  the  shaking  wretch,  cover 
ing  his  eyes  with  both  trembling  hands. 

"Moral,  you  oughtn't  to  have  been  a  dope-fiend,  all 
these  years,"  continued  Waldron,  cuttingly,  determined 
that  now,  once  for  all,  his  despised  partner  should  hear 
the  truth.  "How  you've  lived  so  long,  as  it  is,  I  don't 
understand.  When  I  tried  to  marry  Kate,  and  failed, 
I  reckoned  you'd  pass  over  in  almost  no  time — and,  by 
the  way,  that's  why  I  was  so  insistent.  But  you've  dis 
appointed  me,  Flint.  Disappointed  me  sorely.  You  still 


DEATH  IN  THE  PIT  OF  STEEL          325 

live.  It  won't  be  long,  however.  Down  here,  you  know, 
you  simply  can't  get  any  dope.  In  a  little  while  you'll 
begin  to  suffer  the  torments  of  Hell.  You'll  die  of  star 
vation  and  drug  'yen/  Flint,  and  you'll  die  mad,  mad, 
mad!  Understand  me!  Mad,  for  morphine!  And  I, 
I  shall  watch  you,  and  exult!" 

Flint  cringed,  shuddering  and  stopped  his  ears.  His 
partner,  gloating  over  him,  smoked  faster  now.  A 
strange  light  shone  in  his  eyes.  His  pulse  beat  faster 
than  usual,  and  a  certain  extravagance  of  thought  and 
speech  had  become  manifest  in  him. 

He  tried  to  compose  himself,  feeling  that  he  must 
not  push  the  cowardly  Flint  too  far,  but  his  ideas  refused 
to  flow  in  orderly  sequence.  Wonderingly  he  stared  at 
his  cigar,  the  tip  of  which  was  now  glowing  more  brightly 
than  before. 

And  then,  suddenly  sniffing  the  air  he  understood.  His 
eyes  widened  with  horror  absolute.  He  started  forward, 
gasped  and  cried : 

" Flint!    Flint!!     The  oxygen  is  coming  in!" 

Uncomprehending,  the  old  man  still  stood  there,  mum 
bling  to  himself.  His  face  was  now  tinged  with  unusual 
color,  and  his  heart,  too,  was  thumping  strangely. 

"Oxygen!"  shouted  Waldron,  shaking  him  by  the 
shoulder.  "It — it's  leaking  in,  here,  somewhere!  If  we 
can't  stop  it — we're  dead  men!" 

"Eh?  What?"  stammered  the  Billionaire,  staring  at 
him  with  eyes  of  half -intoxicated  fear.  "What  d'you 
mean,  the  oxygen?  In — in  here?" 

"In  her  el"  cried  "Tiger,"  casting  a  wild  and  terrible 
gaze  about  him  at  the  vast,  empty  trap  of  steel.  "Can't 


326  THE     AIR     TRUST 

you  smell  it?  That  ozone  smell?  My  God,  we're  lost! 
We're  lost!" 

"You're  crazy!"  retorted  Flint,  with  vigor.  "Nothing 
of  the  sort  could  happen!"  His  head  was  held  high, 
now,  and  new  life  seemed  surging  through  that  spent 
and  drug-wrecked  body.  "There's  no  way  those  curs 
could  have  turned  on  any  gas,  here.  You're  crazy,  ha! 
ha!  ha!  Insane,  eh?  A  good  joke — capital  joke,  that! 
I  must  tell  it  at  the  Union  League  Club!  Tiger'  Wal- 
dron,  suddenly  insane,  and — ha!  ha!  ha!" 

He  burst  into  a  long,  shrill  cacchination.  Already  his 
face  was  scarlet  and  his  mind  a  whirl.  Though  neither 
man  understood  the  reason,  yet  the  fact  remained  that 
one  of  the  last  great  explosions  had  ruptured  a  subter 
ranean  check-valve  closing  the  six-inch  pipe  that  was  to 
feed  the  storage-tanks;  and  now  a  swift,  huge  stream  of 
pure  oxygen  gas  was  rushing  at  tremendous  velocity  into 
the  vast  chamber  of  steel. 

Waldron,  his  heart  leaping  as  though  it  would  burst  his 
ribs,  raised  a  fist  to  strike  down  his  insulter ;  then,  with 
drunken  indecision,  joined  in  the  maniacal  laughter  of 
the  staggering  old  man. 

In  their  ears  a  strange,  wild  humming  now  became 
audible.  Lights  danced  before  their  eyes;  their  senses 
reeled,  and  violent,  extravagant  ideas  surged  through 
their  drunken  brains. 

"Ha!  Ha!  Ha!"  rang  Waldron's  crazy  laughter, 
echoing  the  old  man's.  All  at  once,  his  cigar  broke  into 
flame.  Cursing,  he  hurled  it  away,  staggering  back 
against  the  ladder  and  stood  there  swaying,  clutching  it 
to  hold  himself  from  falling. 

There  he  stood,    and    stared   at   Flint,  with  eyes  that 


DEATH  IN  THE  PIT  OF  STEEL          327 

started  from  his  head,  with  panting  breath  and  crimson 
face. 

The  old  man,  in  a  sudden  revulsion  of  terror,  was  now 
grovelling  along  the  floor,  by  one  of  the  massive  walls, 
clawing  at  the  steel  with  impotent  hands  and  screaming 
mingled  prayers  and  oaths.  His  ravings,  horrible  to 
hear,  echoed  through  the  great  tank,  now  swiftly  filling 
with  gas. 

"Help!  Help!"  he  screamed.  "Save  me — my  God — 
save  me — .  Let  me  out,  let  me  out!  A  million,  if  you 
let  me  out !  A  billion — the  ivhole  world!  The  world,  ha ! 
ha !  ha !  Damn  it  to  Hell — the  world,  I  say !  I'll  give 
the  world  to  be  let  out!  It's  mine — I  own  it — all,  all 
mine!  Ha!  Dogs!  You  would  rise  up  against  your 
master  and  your  God,  would  you?  But  it's  no  use — 
we'll  beat  you  yet — out!  out! — the  world — I  own  it! 
All  this  plant — this  gas,  all  mine!  My  oxygen — ah!  it 
chokes  me!  Help!  Help!  — Swine!  I'll  scourge  you 
yet — absolute  power — the  world !" 

With  one  final  spark  of  energy,  panting,  his  heart  flail 
ing  itself  to  death  under  the  pitiless  urge  of  the  oxygen, 
old  Flint  sprang  up,  ran  wildly,  blindly  straight  across 
the  steel  floor,  and,  screaming  blasphemies  like  a  soul  in 
Hell,  dashed  into  the  opposite  wall. 

He  recoiled,  staggered,  spun  round  and  fell  sprawling 
most  horribly — stone  dead. 

Waldron,  at  sight  of  this  awful  end,  felt  an  uncon 
trollable  terror  sweep  over  his  drunk  and  maddened  senses. 
Though  all  his  blood  was  leaping  in  his  arteries,  and  his 
breath  coming  so  fast  it  choked  him,  yet  a  moment's 
seeming  sanity  possessed  his  reeling  brain. 


328  THE    AIR     TRUST 

"The  door!  The  door,  up  there!"  he  screamed,  with  a 
wild,  terrible  curse. 

Then,  turning  toward  the  ladder,  in  spite  of  his  fat  and 
flabby  muscles  quivering  in  terrible  spasms,  he  ran  up  the 
long  steel  structure  with  a  supreme  and  ape-like  agility. 

Fifty  feet  he  made,  seventy-five,  ninety 

But,  all  at  once,  something  seemed  to  break  in  his  over 
taxed  heart. 

A  blackness  swam  before  his  dazzled  eyes.  His  head 
fell  back.  Unnerved,  his  fingers  lost  their  hold.  And, 
whirling  over  and  over  in  midair,  he  dropped  like  a 
plummet. 

By  one  wall  lay  Flint's  body.  At  the  foot  of  the  lad 
der,  like  a  crushed  sack  of  bones,  sprawled  the  corpse  of 
"Tiger"  Waldron. 

And  still  the  rushing  oxygen,  with  which  they  two  had 
hoped  to  dominate  the  world,  poured  through  the  six-inch 
main,  far,  far  above — senseless  matter,  blindly  avenging 
itself  upon  the  rash  and  evil  men  who  impiously  had 
sought  to  cage  and  master  it! 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 
VISIONS. 

perished  Flint  and  Waldron,  scourges  of  the 
earth.  Thus  they  died,  slain  by  the  very  force 
which  they  had  planned  would  betray  mankind  and  de 
liver  it  into  their  chains.  Thus  vanished,  forever,  the 
most  sinister  and  cruel  minds  ever  evolved  upon  this 
planet;  the  greatest  menace  the  human  race  had  ever 
known;  the  evil  Masters  of  the  World. 

And  as  they  died,  massed  around  their  perished  Air 
Trust  plant,  a  throng  of  silent,  earnest  watchers  stood, 
with  faces  illumined  by  the  symbolic,  sacrificial  flames — 
a  throng  of  emancipated  workers,  of  toilers  from  whose 
bowed  shoulders  now  forever  had  been  lifted  the  frightful 
menace  of  a  universal  bondage. 

Explosion  after  explosion  burst  from  the  tortured  In 
ferno  of  the  vast  plant.  Buildings  came  crashing,  reel 
ing,  thundering  down;  walls  fell,  amid  vast,  belching 
clouds  of  dust  and  smoke;  a  white,  consuming  sheet  of 
flame  crackled  across  the  sinister  and  evil  place;  and  in 
its  wake  glowed  incandescent  ruins. 

Then,  in  one  final  burst  of  thunderous  tumult,  the 
hugest  tank  of  all,  exploding  with  a  roar  like  that  of 
Doom  itself,  hurled  belching  flames  on  high. 

For  many  miles — in  Buffalo,  Rochester,  Toronto  and 
scores  of  cities  on  both  sides  of  the  Great  Lakes — silent 
multitudes  watched  the  glare  against  the  midnight  sky; 


330  THE    AIR     TRUST 

and  many  wept  for  joy;  and  many  prayed.  All  under 
stood  the  meaning  of  that  sight.  The  light  upon  the 
heavens  seemed  a  signal  and  a  beacon — a  promise  that 
the  Old  Times  had  passed  away  forever — a  covenant  of 
the  New. 

And,  as  the  final  explosion  shattered  the  Temple  of 
Bondage  to  wreckage,  flung  it  far  into  the  rushing  river 
and  swept  it  over  the  leaping,  thundering  Falls,  the  news 
flashed  on  a  thousand  wires,  to  all  cities  and  all  lands; 
and  though  the  mercenaries  of  the  two  dead  world-mas 
ters  still  might  struggle  and  might  strive  to  beat  the  toil 
ers  back  to  slavery  again,  their  days  were  numbered  and 
their  powers  forever  broken. 

Together  in  the  doorway  of  the  refuge  at  Port  Col- 
borne,  Catherine  stood  with  Gabriel,  watching  the  beacon 
of  liberty  upon  the  heavens.  The  light,  a  halo  round  her 
eager  face,  showed  his  powerful  figure  and  the  smile  of 
triumph  in  his  eyes.  His  left  arm,  broken  by  the  fall  in 
the  aeroplane,  now  rested  in  a  sling.  His  right,  protect 
ing  in  its  strength,  was  round  the  girl.  And  as  her  head 
found  shelter  and  rest,  at  length,  upon  his  shoulder,  she, 
too,  smiled;  and  her  eyes  seemed  to  see  visions  in  the 
glory  of  the  sky. 

"Visions!"  said  she,  -softly,  as  though  voicing  a  uni 
versal  thought.  "Do  you  behold  them,  too?" 

He  nodded. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "and  they  are  beautiful  and  sweet 
and  pure!" 

"Visions  that  we  now  shall  surely  see?" 

"Shall  surely  see!"  he  echoed;  and  a  little  silence  fell. 
Far  off,  they  seemed  to  hear  a  vast  and  thousand-throated 


VISIONS  331 

cheering,  that  the  night-wind  brought  to  them  in  long 
and  heart-inspiring  cadences. 

"Gabriel,"  she  said,  at  last. 

"Well?" 

"I  wish  he  might  have  seen  them,  and  have  understood ! 
In  spite  of  all  he  did,  and  was,  he  was  my  father !" 

"Yes,"  answered  Gabriel,  sensing  her  grief.  "But 
would  you  have  had  him  live  through  this?  Live,  with 
the  whole  world  out  of  his  grasp,  again?  Live,  with  all 
his  plans  wrecked  and  broken  ?  Live  on  in  this  new  time, 
where  he  could  have  comprehended  nothing?  Live  on,  in 
misery  and  rage  and  impotence? 

"Your  father  was  an  old  man,  Catherine.  You  know 
as  well  as  I  do — better,  perhaps — the  whole  trend  of  his 
life's  thought  and  ambition.  Even  if  he'd  lived,  he 
couldn't  have  changed,  now,  at  his  age.  It  would  have 
been  an  utter  impossibility.  Why  say  more?" 

Catherine  made  no  reply;  but  in  her  very  attitude  of 
trust  and  confidence,  Gabriel  knew  he  read  the  comfort 
he  had  given  her. 

Silence,  a  while.     At  last  she  spoke. 

"Visions!"  she  whispered.  "Wonderful  visions  of  the 
glad,  new  time!  How  do  you  see  them,  Gabriel?" 

"How  do  I  see  them?"  His  face  seemed  to  glow  with 
inspiration  under  the  shining  light  in  the  far  heavens. 
"I  see  them  as  the  realization  of  a  time,  now  really  close 
at  hand,  when  this  old  world  of  ours  shall  be,  as  it  never 
yet  has  been,  in  truth  civilized,  emancipated,  free.  When 
the  night  of  ignorance,  kingcraft,  priestcraft,  servility  and 
prejudice,  bigotry  and  superstition  shall  be  forever  swept 
away  by  the  dawn  of  intelligence  and  universal  education, 


332  THE    AIR    TRUST 

by  scientific  truth  and  light — by  understanding  and  by 
fearlessness. 

"When  Science  shall  no  longer  be  'the  mystery  of  a 
class/  but  shall  become  the  heritage  of  all  mankind. 
When,  because  much  is  known  by  all,  nothing  shall  be 
dreaded  by  any.  When  all  mankind  shall  be  absolutely 
its  own  master,  strong,  and  brave,  and  free!" 

"Like  you,  Gabriel!"  the  girl  exclaimed,  from  her 
heart. 

"Don't  say  that!"  he  disclaimed.     "Don't " 

She  put  her  hand  over  his  mouth. 

"Shhhh !"  she  forbade  him.  "You  mustn't  argue,  now, 
because  your  arm's  just  been  set  and  we  don't  want  any 
fever.  If  my  dreams  include  you,  too,  Gabriel,  don't  try 
to  tell  me  I'm  mistaken — because  I'm  not,  to  begin  with, 
and  I  know  I'm  not!" 

He  laughed,  and  shook  his  head. 

"Do  you  realize,"  said  he,  "that  when  it  comes  to 
bravery,  and  strength,  and  the  splendid  freedom  of  an 
emancipated  soul,  I  must  look  to  you  for  light  and  lead 
ing?" 

"Don't!"  she  whispered.  "Look  only  to  the  future — 
to  the  newer,  better  world  now  coming  to  birth!  The 
time  which  is  to  know  no  poverty,  no  crime,  no  chi!T 
dren's  blood  wrung  out  for  dividends! 

"The  future  when  no  longer  Idleness  can  enslave  Labor 
to  its  tasks.  When  every  man  who  will,  may  labor  freely, 
whether  with  hand  or  brain,  and  receive  the  full  value  of 
his  toil,  undiminished  by  any  theft  or  purloining  what 
soever  !" 

"The  future,"  he  continued,  as  she  paused,  "when 
crowns,  titles,  swords,  rifles  and  dreadnaughts  shall  be 


VISIONS  333 

known  only  by  history.  When  the  earth  and  the  fulness 
thereof  shall  belong  to  all  Earth's  people;  and  when 
its  soil  need  be  no  longer  fertilized  with  human  blood, 
its  crops  no  longer  be  brought  forth  watered  by  sweat 
and  tears. 

"Such  have  been  my  visions  and  my  dreams,  Cather 
ine — a  few  of  them.  Now  they  are  coming  true!  And 
other  dreams  and  other  visions — dreams  of  you  and  vis 
ions  of  our  life  together — what  of  them?" 

"Why  need  you  ask,  Gabriel?"  she  answered,  raising 
her  lips  to  his. 

The  sound  of  singing,  a  triumphal  chorus  of  the  accom 
plished  Revolution,  a  vast  and  million-throated  song, 
seemed  wafted  to  them  on  the  wings  of  night. 

And  the  pure  stars,  witnessing  their  love  and  troth, 
looked  down  upon  them  from  the  heavens  where  shone 
the  fire-glow  of  the  Great  Emancipation. 

THE  END. 


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